Forbidden
by Eirian1
Summary: An ancient custom forces Ardeth aside from the woman he cannot admit he loves and brings him to accept a union with a dreamer who has saved his life. Will that custom prove to be the death of them all?
1. Dominoes

_Author's disclaimer: I do not own Ardeth Bay, or Loch Na. Stephen Sommers and the guys at Universal do, for which they have my utmost respect and no copyright infringement is intended. Melleha, Lamis and other assorted original characters are my own creation, if you want to use any of them please talk to me first. Original material presented here is © Eirian Phillips 2001._

_I can be reached by email address as seen on my profile - it won't add it here. _ _Feedback is always welcome and emails are usually answered._

_Story is rated R, (for the most part, specific chapters may require a shift in the rating), due to violence, sex and occasional language._

_Characters and events are purely fictitious, and any similarity to anyone living, dead or otherwise downright evil, is purely coincidental._

**Forbidden Chapter One – Dominoes**

Melleha sighed and went to stand beside the open shutters to peer down into the gathering gloom of the street, and pulled the hairbrush through her long brown hair one more time, before she leaned against the window frame and casually tossed the brush backward onto the bed. The light breeze gave slight relief from the almost overwhelming heat of the day that was left trapped within the house, caged like a wild animal and clawing and biting at all the occupants, leaving them hot and miserable.

She wished she could go out, even into the garden, but it was too late for that and if she were caught she would be beaten, as she always was when she disobeyed the commands of her guardian. She huffed as she thought of him… owner more like… and she little better than a piece of property. It was a long story, but shortened it ran that her parents borrowed a large amount of money from Adham al-Mahdi to finance a venture that had gone horribly wrong. Unable to repay the debt, her father had offered anything for al-Mahdi to spare his life. Al-Mahdi was not a patient man, (this she had learned personally, much to her own chagrin), and had wanted her father's head in return for the unpaid debt, and after much consideration it was decided that she would be given to the disgusting little man, to be raised as his own. She was eleven at the time. She was permitted one visit every six months with her family, and was allowed to stay with them for three days – the rest of the time she could only write or they could pay her short visits at the house, she snorted again… prison more like. They never did visit, she supposed, because her parents must be fearful that al-Mahdi would take a liking to one of her other sisters and order her brought here also.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes. They always did when she thought of her family. She missed them dreadfully, her mother and sisters especially, whom she had seen for only twenty-four days in the last nine years. She missed her mother's stories… her older sister's constant scalding… the way her youngest sister would always get her into trouble for anything and everything…

The sound of horses hooves on the hard packed earth of the back streets brought her out of her contemplation and she leaned forward almost as though this was what she had been waiting for and then they were there, pulling the horses to a stop and sliding gracefully to the ground as though they truly were mere shadows as their appearance led her to believe. Entirely in black, hard to distinguish in the poor light of dusk, a small band of men – perhaps only five or six led their horses toward the rear of a large building that she knew to be the Museum. One of them, taller than the others she thought, turned and the wind chose that moment to carry his voice up to her window, as it had never done before, rich and authoritative and deep. "Khali balk men el hesena," he said to one of the others. _Take care of the horses._ She understood some Arabic – not enough, according to her guardian – but refused to make the effort to learn any more, as a matter of principal… a defiant stand against a man that beat her for everything else, she let him believe that she was simply not capable of learning it.

"What do you think you are doing!" Her servant pushed her away from the window and grabbing the shutters, slammed them closed. "When will you learn to behave like a proper lady?"

"Who are those men?" she asked, ignoring the veiled woman's exasperated words.

"You cannot go standing in the window in nothing at all!"

"I'm wearing my nightgown, Firyal. Who are those men?" She repeated her question, and allowing herself to be led back to the side of her bed added, "I see them so often, coming to the Museum, and sometimes other places too, always lurking in the shadows. They look so fascinating. Who _are_ they?"

"You need not concern yourself with them," Firyal answered just a little too quickly to make it sound casual. "They are no one… nomads from the desert." She had obviously tried to make it sound as though she didn't really know who they were, but Melleha knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was lying.

"If they are just nomads, why do they visit the museum so often?" she challenged.

"I don't know," Firyal pulled down the bedclothes and gestured to the bed, "Now stop asking questions and get into bed before Mr al-Mahdi finds you still awake and beats us both!"

With a deep sigh, and a final look toward the shutters, as though she could see through them to the men outside in the street, Melleha obeyed, sliding her feet into the bed and snuggling down when Firyal pulled up the covers.

"Melleha…" Firyal began stroking her hair, as she always did to soothe her to sleep. "It's such a beautiful name," she added in a sing song voice. "And so unusual for someone like you."

"For a white woman you mean?" Melleha asked with a hint of pique.

"Why-ever did your mother name you like that?" Firyal asked nodding her head to confirm that was what she meant.

"She used to tell me the story every day." Tears returned to her eyes as Melleha remembered. "When she was still pregnant with me one day in the market an old woman came up to her and said to her that she would have a girl child. Mother hoped or thought I would be a son – for my father's sake – and so she told the woman this. The old woman laughed a gentle laugh and said to her that if she were wrong and my mother had a boy child she would be surprised, and would bring to my mother something that he would need as he got older… but that if I was a girl, as she believed, she should call me Melleha…" she stopped, overcome with tears as the rest of the tale. _And you should watch over her as you would over a precious jewel – for one day she will carry the beauty and peace of the starry night in her very soul and do something so important that even the sand in the desert will cry out for her touch. _As it had turned out, her mother had been completely unable to protect her from her father's deals.

"And when you were born a girl, she remembered and honoured the old woman's memory in calling you Melleha." Firyal finished the story. "Do not cry, my sweet, you will see them soon enough. I know that you miss them."

"Sometimes I am so afraid that I'll never see them again," Melleha sobbed into her pillow, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

* * *

Ardeth sighed, almost with relief and patted the side of his horse's neck before he slid gracefully from the saddle to land poised on his feet. He handed the reins to a boy nearby, not such a boy, he noted… almost a man now, and turned to greet an older Medjai striding toward him. 

"Peace, my friend," he said with a slight bow of respect. The man was, after all, the leader of this particular one of the twelve tribes.

"And to you also, my Lord." He cringed inwardly at the title. He would have been just as happy with Ardeth. Sometimes, on a day like today had been, the weight of responsibility on his reasonably young shoulders was heavy indeed. "You and your warriors are always welcome guests in our camp."

"Thank you, Marzuq." Ardeth signalled his men and they too climbed down from their horses, the formal invitation and acceptance of hospitality having been exchanged. To some it might have seemed a tired old ritual, but to Ardeth it was a comfort. It provided him a sense of stability in a life that could otherwise have been too transient and changeable. He had a home, but was so rarely there, was always out in the open desert fulfilling his duties and obligations to keep Hamunaptra undisturbed once more, and Imhotep in his grave. And so close to Cairo, this tribe's oasis sometimes seemed more like home than did his own.

"So was your visit to Cairo a success?" Marzuq led him further into the Medjai settlement with an arm pressed companionably across his back, his hand on the opposite shoulder.

"No," Ardeth shook his head. "The Artefact had not yet arrived at the Museum, and apparently the one in possession of the ring will not meet with me if there is more than just me present at the meeting. I will need to return in two days."

"Well then you must stay with us until you need to return. It would take you longer to get back to your own settlement anyway."

"You are very kind, Marzuq." Ardeth felt a close bond with Marzuq. Both of them shared the same philosophies, the same humility in their position… unlike some. "Is there any news of your son and his wife?"

Marzuq's face split into a huge grin, and he almost danced on the spot as they stopped outside his tent. "She bore him a son, late yesterday. Can you believe – I am a grandfather!"

Ardeth smiled too, a genuine smile. "It is a great blessing you have received," he said.

"It would be a greater blessing to us all if _you_ were the one to accept the child into the tribe." Marzuq said hopefully.

"It would be my honour to do so, my friend." He inclined his head once more in a slight bow of acknowledgement. As leader of his particular tribe, it was the older man's right to recognise the child, in giving up that right in favour of Ardeth he was accepting in the younger man the right of leadership over all of the twelve tribes, a recognition of his own humility, in spite of his seniority with regard to age.

"Good then," Marzuq said, and clapped Ardeth on the back, becoming light hearted once more. "You must rest, and later we will eat."

* * *

"I don't care how much it will cost," Adham snapped, "I want that man out of the way – permanently. He and his ragged bunch have been the thorn in my side for years. How will I ever convince my clients that all is prepared if merchandise is still guarded by that rabble!" Spittle flew into the space between him and men he had chosen as his assassins. 

"Very well," one of the two men answered. "You give us half now, and half when the job is completed." His voice was like metal rasping across gravel. "When will he return?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"And he will be alone?" In complete contrast, the taller of the two assassins had a voice like silk passed in a gentle caress across skin. It made him sound all the more menacing.

"He was told that the owner of the item he seeks will not meet with him if he is not alone." Adham glanced at the wiry man and then quickly away. He knew the man was good, it was one of the reasons why he'd chosen him, but the man was not known for being the most indulgent of hired killers, even with his employer and he had no intention of falling foul of the little weasel.

"And you are sure that killing him will break their spirit?" He could almost see the cogs turning around in the assassin's head, the possibilities for making extra money out of the deal once their mark was dead.

"With him dead there will be chaos while they debate who will lead. He has no heir, and all of the treasure of Egypt will be unguarded, and there for the taking of the man, or men that are ready to move when the time is right," he answered. He reached to the table, took hold of a little bell and rang it. A servant entered swiftly and he spoke to the man in hushed undertones. "Your fee will be available directly gentlemen," he said. "In the meanwhile, perhaps we can take a drink."

* * *

Night was his time. He enjoyed the night, which was probably a good thing since he seemed to see an awful lot of it. Sitting on a dune, behind one of the tents furthest away from the central fire he contemplated the evening's events. 

The look on his friend's face had been priceless when he had lifted the tiny baby into his arms from its mother's lap and spoken the ritual words of acceptance of the child into the scared brotherhood of the Medjai – to be consecrated a warrior at manhood, and as a member of the ninth tribe. He would face a hundred treasure seekers to be able to see that expression over and over again. But having a child so young in his arms, even for so short a time had set him thinking… about his future… about the future of the Medjai and ensuring that it had strong leadership.

"You are avoiding me, Ardeth," He looked up, and then jumped to his feet as the woman approached where he was sitting. He came quickly down the side of the dune to hook her arm and draw her out of sight of the village, into the shadow of the tent. As he took her arm she pulled down the veil from her face and smiled up at him.

"Lamis, what do you think you are doing?" he hissed as though he feared being overheard. "A woman should not come out here unescorted, it is not safe."

"Well then all will be well, because I am not unescorted." She pouted at him. "Tell me that you are not avoiding me, and come back with me Ardeth – they are missing you."

Ardeth sighed. "You are missing me, you mean," he said softly. "Lamis, my avoidance is for your own good." She wrapped her arms around herself as he spoke and in the dim light from the waning moon he saw her lips begin to tremble. To try and soften what he was saying he reached out to caress her upper arms, as if she were cold and he were trying to warm her, his long fingered hands sliding up and down. "I am sorry, truly, but we have been through this. There is never going to be a 'we' beyond the friendship that we have and you need to understand that." He hated that he was hurting her, even though his words were as gentle as he could make them he knew that he was. It wasn't that he didn't like her, he cared about her a great deal, but he didn't love her… not in the way that he needed if she were to be the woman he was to marry and not as she wanted him to either.

"I saw you with that baby tonight," she said, moving away from his light caress and turning to face him.

"Most of the tribe saw me with that child," he answered, refusing to be drawn. "Lamis, stop this, please."

"Ardeth…"

"No!" he said, more forcefully than he intended. He took a step forward to try and take back his annoyance, but she backed up a step and almost tripped on the hem of her dress. His warrior reflexes had him catch her arm to stop the near fall. She resisted his help for a second before throwing herself forward against his chest.

"Ardeth, please…" She turned her head and pressed it against his chest.

"Listen to me," he tried to prise her away from him, but she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Lamis, let go. Stop this!"

"I love you!" she started to shake, and he realised that she must be crying.

This time he used his strength to gently pull her back to arm's length. When she would not look at him he cupped her chin in his hand and brought her eyes up to meet his. "And I care about you, but this cannot be."

"But why?" her voice wavered on the edge of fresh tears.

Why indeed… Ardeth sighed. "Because I was born on a twelfth year."

"Wh… what?" she stuttered, seeming shocked, as though it was the last thing she expected him to say. He could understand that. Over the years he had hidden behind his duty… his position… everything – but he had rarely admitted the truth, that the male children born in every twelfth year were to choose brides from outside of the twelve tribes, to help maintain their number and keep the danger of inbreeding down to a minimum.

"The woman I am to marry cannot be from any of the twelve tribes." He finally let himself say the words aloud. "The woman I marry will not be of the Medjai."

"Ardeth…" she broke down then, sobbed his name until he feared she might make herself ill. He drew her closer and enfolded her in his arms.

"Hush, Lamis," he soothed gently, "It is all right. You will always have a place in my heart, little sister."

"But I don't want to be your little sister…" she wept. "You could take a second wife, Ardeth please."

He laid his cheek on the top of her head and, rocking her from side to side, made his words as gentle and kind as he could. "Lamis, you know that's not who I am. You know me better than any other woman in the twelve tribes, because you are your father's daughter, and so you know that when I marry, it will be for love."

"But how will you find that love, if with a woman you have never met before – never even seen?" She asked, still crying hard into the front of his robe.

"I do not know," he sighed, "But I have faith that our questions will be answered." He gently eased her out of his arms once more and trying to harden his heart a little said firmly, "No more tears. You must forget about me and look to your future with a husband that loves you and will always be there for you."

Another sigh rose in him as he looked into her eyes awash with the tears that she was trying hard to hold back. It was true, what he had said, she was like a sister to him and as Marzuq's youngest daughter she did know more of him than any other person, certainly any other woman, because she had so often overheard his conversations with her father. Shaking his head slightly, he lifted his hands to up her face and brushed away the teardrops from her cheeks. He knew what he must do and he hated himself for it. His stomach began turning in knots as he tried to prepare himself.

"Will you at least say goodbye with a kiss?" she whispered, looking directly into his eyes.

He shook his head. "It would not be right or proper," he said and with dextrous fingers he picked up the veil, to fix it back into place and summoning more strength than he had ever needed before continued, "And if you cannot accept me as your brother then I must behave as any other warrior and expect that you keep yourself covered in future. Go back to the fire Lamis." He turned his face away from the crushed look that he knew would be in her eyes and heard a new sob burst from her as she turned and fled.

It took him a long time to compose himself and settle the torrent of feeling that knotted his stomach and when he opened his eyes again it was to find Marzuq standing close by, keeping silent vigil over him.

"You told her then?" he said.

"You were listening?" Ardeth's voice was low and sad.

Marzuq shook his head, "I saw her returning to our tent and thought she was weeping. I guessed she had come from you and came to find you."

"Marzuq, I know she is your daughter, and you want to protect her but…"

"You did the right thing, Ardeth my boy." The old man put a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't come here to scald you. She's young, she will recover."

Ardeth wasn't so sure, but didn't voice his concerns. Instead he asked, "Then why did you come."

"I knew you also would be upset." The answer finally unlocked Ardeth's heart.

* * *

Everything inside her screamed as her every sensibility was assaulted. Her hand became a claw on the back of the chair as she fought to keep herself standing, Adham's last words still echoing through her suddenly aching head. _I have found a husband for you my sweet child._

"He is very well connected with many of the desert tribes unofficially answering to him, so I have no doubt you will be well provided for," he continued.

"I…" she couldn't go on. She felt sick.

"No need to thank me, child." Adham came to stand beside her then, and put a podgy arm around her shoulders.

Melleha was thankful in the moment for the veil she wore, it hid the way her jaw tightened and her lips trembled. A husband was bad enough, but one out in the middle of nowhere? She couldn't marry, wasn't ready to marry – she was only twenty for goodness sake! And what about her family? The thought of her family gave her the strength to move and she threw off his arm. Before she knew what she was doing, words were bursting from her lips.

"Marry? Are you out of your mind?" she turned, ignoring the way firyal tried to catch her eye, to silence her. "I'm not going to marry!"

"You will do as I see fit young lady," Adham reached out and grabbed the front of her dress, beside the shoulder to pull her closer and shook her roughly. "And I say you will marry!" He all but threw her into a nearby chair and the look he gave her told her that she had made a huge mistake in standing up for herself. She shrank back into the chair, her bravery momentarily quelled. "Your future husband will be here later in the day, and when I present you to him, you WILL cooperate, you ungrateful little harlot! Your father has already given his consent."

"My father would never…" she spat, afraid, but still defiant.

"Your father is not the man you think him to be, Melleha, and given the choice between giving you, or you sister, Alison…"

"You bastard!" Melleha fought to get out of the chair, only to find him mere inches away from her face and once more grasping the front of her dress. She fought the impulse to push him away as the smell of his bad breath assaulted her delicate senses.

"It's a pity," he said almost mildly, ignoring her insult. "I was rather hoping to have you for myself. Still – can't be helped."

"Let go of me you…" His stinging slap across the side of her face, hardly cushioned at all by her veil cut off what she had been about to say.

"You, girl!" he addressed Firyal. "Take her back to her room, and see that she presents herself suitably dressed for afternoon tea!" He hauled Melleha out of the chair, and if not for Firyal catching her, she would have fallen. But she was determined that she would not let out the angry tears that were burning in her eyes… or even acknowledge the edge of panic that was growing in her heart and stomach. Stiffly she allowed Firyal to lead her from the room and back to her own chambers.

"Melleha…"

"Don't you… don't you even DARE," she ripped off the veil and threw it at Firyal, "try to tell me that it's for the best… that it won't be so bad." She began to pace back and forth, her feet hitting the tiles so hard that jolts ran up her legs with each step she took.

"But perhaps…"

"I've never even MET the man, how am I supposed to be expected to love someone I've never even met?" She turned and started pacing in the other direction, Firyal darting this way and that to keep up with her and catch the pieces of clothing that she was tearing off her body. "No forget that… I'm not even READY to marry. I won't go through with it."

Firyal stepped into her path and she didn't see her, so collided with the woman and came to an abrupt halt. "Melleha, for the love of Allah, please listen to me. I know this is not what you wanted, what you expected, but really, what are the alternatives? A lifetime with Adham? You heard what he said; he wanted you for himself. Would you agree to that instead?"

At her gentle words, all the fight went out of Melleha as her anger dissipated, allowing the fear and sadness to take hold. She almost fell forward into her servant's arms, accepting Firyal's gentle hug of support.

"But I can't marry… I'd hate it…"

"You don't know that." Firyal said gently. "He might turn out to be quite a gentleman… handsome and strong…"

"Firyal please stop…" she pulled herself from Firyal's arms and sat down on the bed, sobbing openly now. "We both know that's not true… not if he's a friend of Adham's."

"Stop this now, you will make yourself ill," the other woman said quietly, sitting down beside her and stroking her back gently. "You know in your heart that it will go badly for you if you fight him…"

"I don't intend to fight," she answered, sitting up and wiping her reddened eyes with the back of her hand. "I'll just go. I'll run away."

"Melleha no!" Firyal's panic was clearly visible on her face, and for a moment Melleha almost lost her nerve. "If he catches you, it will be all the worse for you…"

"I can't stay here." She caught Firyal's hand in hers and squeezed it. "Come with me."

"I cannot."

"You can… we can both get away…"

"And where would we go Melleha? Hmmm? You are not thinking with your head, you are letting your fear rule you and the only place it will lead you pain and sorrow." Firyal pulled her hand away. "I won't be a part of that."

When she stood up, Melleha panicked. "Please, Firyal, don't tell him… I'll do anything…"

"Then at least give yourself time to think. Meet the man and see if he is all that disagreeable before you go making decisions that could be the end of you."

"All right… I promise." Melleha sighed. Deep down she knew that Firyal was right; there was nowhere she could go even if she did run. She couldn't go back to her family, Adham would only punish them – perhaps even take her back AND her sisters. She had no other friends in Cairo – and if she ran off into the streets she would probably end up very quickly in the very position she didn't want to be… as the possession of some awful man she didn't even know and wouldn't want to know even if she did! She lay down on the bed and cried herself into exhaustion.

* * *

He was known and feared as "Whisper." He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile as he strolled through the gardens of the nobleman's home. It was a name and a reputation he had earned. His smile faded as he remembered the other man hired by Al-Mahdi to go after the same mark. He had never been doubted in that way before, and he did not like the bitter taste it left in his mouth. And when he didn't like something… 

"Why are you here, Wahid?" The voice, addressing him by his given name, startled him out of his angry contemplation. _Sloppy_ he berated himself, and stopped a mere breath away from walking into the tree of a man standing in the doorway. He was tall, a fact accentuated by the large turban like hat he wore. His black skin, darkened by the Egyptian sun, shone with the oils with which he had been anointed – no doubt by a woman of the nobleman's harem. The red cloth that draped his body did nothing to hide the very well formed muscles and through his wide leather belt many weapons hung, all read for use. His face was impassive, or perhaps a little amused, as his dark brown eyes bore into Whisper's own.

"I am here to see Amir," he answered calmly. Even with the man's strength and intimidating appearance, Whisper thought he could probably take him.

"I do not believe so." The tree answered, folding his arms across his chest and setting himself further in the doorway. "When Whisper comes calling on my master, I am sure he brings only trouble."

He smiled. It was a cold and humourless smile. "I bring him information."

"Then give the message to me and I will see that he gets it."

"I do not believe so," he answered, mocking the man's own words. "When I come to call on my brother, I am sure that he would wish to receive me in person."

"He is engaged."

"Then I'll wait." Whisper stepped forward, only to find the other man moving into his path and placing an outstretched hand against his chest. He let out a long slow sigh and almost breathed his next sentence. "You try my patience Loch-nah. I am here to see my brother. Get out of my way."

The two men stood for a moment, physical strength silently battling strength of will, before Loch-nah finally lowered his hand from Whisper's chest. "As you wish," he said as he stood aside. "He is with the lady Yasmin."

Whisper swept past his brother's bodyguard into the palatial house. As he got within the shade of the hallway he stopped and turned. "And Loch-nah," he fixed the man that was, after all, little better than one of his brother's servants with a deadly gaze as the man merely raised his eyebrow in recognition that he had spoken to him. "Never touch me again."

He turned away again and continued on his way into the house, climbing the stairs and bursting in on the couple engaged in their own private "battle of wills." The woman, Yasmin, screamed and dragged herself away from where she straddled Amir, grabbing the sheet to cover her nakedness, and sending the scent of sexual musk and rose petals travelling in Whisper's direction. He tensed, but did not move from the spot at which he had come to a halt at the foot of the large bed.

"Really Wahid," Amir reached beside the bed to grab his pants and pull them on to cover his own now withering nakedness. "You should learn how to knock, you know." He turned to the woman and waved a hand toward the door. "Enough Go!"

"I'm sorry, my brother," Whisper said with a mocking bow, not meaning a single word of the apology. "This couldn't wait."

"All right, all right." Amir gestured toward a nearby chair. "Sit… speak."

"I'd prefer to go somewhere less… aromatic," Whisper answered in disgust. "It smells like a brothel in here!"

His brother laughed, and threw a sweat stained arm around his shoulder, "As you wish, Wahid. Give me a moment to bathe and change, I will be down directly."

"No!" Whisper threw off his brother's arm. Amir shrugged and began to walk toward the seat he had waved at a moment ago. "Al-Mahdi moves against the Medjai."

Amir's good humoured smile evaporated and he turned whipped his head round to face his brother. "You know this how?"

"I know this because he has engaged my particular skills in removing his problem."

"Who?"

"Bay."

"Absolutely not!" Amir jumped up from the seat and kicked the nearby wooden table across the room. It splintered against the wall. Whisper had to cover his mouth to hide his amusement at his brother's reaction.

"I would have thought you would be pleased, my brother." His eyes held a predatory gleam. "Strike the head off a snake and his poison can no longer seep into your veins."

"I said no, and I mean it!" Amir raised his voice and then his hand to his brother and grabbed at the front of his tunic.

He reacted without thinking; his knife cleared the sheath and pressed against his brother's stomach to draw a bead of blood that trickled down to stain the front of his cream coloured pants. "You know better than that, brother," he hissed against Amir's cheek. "_I_ choose the jobs I accept – and I choose to accept this because I won't so easily forget what he did to our sister."

"The man was not himself. He was drugged."

"The _man_," he sneered the word, "is supposed to be Medjai… a warrior for God!"

"He makes amends…"

"You _forgive?_" He released his brother in shock and watched as he pressed his hands against the small wound on his stomach.

"You cut me!" Amir snapped, looking at his hands, and then at his brother in what Whisper thought might have been anger, or maybe hatred. "The Medjai are all that stand between us and the Farhaseed. Kill Bay and they will be all over this region likes scarabs after flesh."

"You forgive this man?" Whisper repeated, dangerously low, gripping the handle of the knife that had now tasted his brother's blood more firmly in his hand and shifting his centre of balance imperceptibly slowly, prepared to strike out against his own brother if he gave the wrong answer in the next moment.

"Make no mistake, Wahid, my brother. Ardeth Bay will pay for what he has done to us – for the way he broke our sacred trust… but it will be at a time of my choosing." Whisper saw his brother's eyes turn colder than he had ever seen them before. "Stay your hand, my assassin, perhaps even warn the Medjai charlatan of what is to come… but we need his people for just a little longer…"

* * *

Melleha stood trembling as Firyal fussed around her, arranging her dress and her veils so that they hung in just the right way. She had a very bad feeling about the meeting about to take place. 

"See your eyes are a mess!" Firyal made her sit one more time and applied yet more kohl to her already sore eyes. "Crying the whole of the day… I told you, it will not be so bad."

"It's already worse than it could ever be!" She felt thoroughly miserable and bit her lip to keep from crying again.

"Don't be so foolish, Melleha." It hurt her even more to know that Firyal was losing patience with her. "He's just a man, not a beast."

"You've seen him then have you!" Melleha raised her voice, fighting off the tears by embracing her anger. "From what Adham said, it wouldn't surprise me to find that he's some kind of glorified camel herder from the middle of nowhere."

"You must not talk that way… he is to be your hus…"

"He's to be NOTHING I don't want him to be!" Melleha screamed in Firyal's startled face. At her servant's reaction, she shrank back, dropped her gaze to the floor and mumbled an apology. Firyal's face softened into a sad smile and she moved forward to stroke Melleha's back.

"I do understand," she said. "It is a big step to be taking, becoming a wife… there is bound to be fear and… unknown things… but I assure you…"

"Stop, please…" Melleha cut her off. "I'm not ready to marry. I won't marry and I certainly don't intend to let any man have mastery of my body."

"Is that so?" She froze at the sound of his voice from the doorway… and couldn't help wondering how much Adham had heard. "You will be punished later for you insolence. Bring her."

Melleha barely had time to slip her tiny feet into her silk slippers before she was bustled out of the door and down the stairs, after her guardian. He took her into the drawing room, and there she froze.

Her heart leaped up into her throat and for a second she couldn't breathe. The room was literally full with men and the stench of sweat and hot sand. She swallowed hard, both to keep from bolting from fear and embarrassing herself by retching. She wasn't even aware that she started backing up until she felt Firyal's hand in the middle of her back, pushing her forward again. She looked from one to the other of the men, all dressed in tan robes that swaddled them and hid their form, _and probably_ she thought _was responsible for the god-awful smell!_ She tried very hard not to cover her nose with her hand. They looked like the desert people she had seen on her rare trips to the market, or as she was conveyed between her prison and her home. She noticed also that they were all armed from head to foot with knives and guns. They looked most unwelcoming.

A deep but cruel sounding voice came from the centre of the pack, where she couldn't see. He spoke in Arabic… rapid Arabic that she hadn't a chance of ever being able to translate. Adham answered, his Arabic equally as swift, and swept his arm in her direction.

"Ehderha lee hona!" The command came more slowly, but still she couldn't get her suddenly frozen brain to comprehend. Not until she felt two of the tan clad brutes take hold of her arms and start to pull her forward did she realise that he wanted her brought closer. She whimpered, and hated herself for the weakness in it, but something like dread had settled into her stomach and leadened her feet.

The sea of tan bodies parted affording her the first view of the man within as he stood up from the chair in which he had been sitting. He was almost as wide as he was tall, with hawk like features that accented the cruel looking scars on his cheeks. His dark eyes were cold and in no way softened by the shoulder length black hair that was pushed backward from his forehead with the sweep of a gold encrusted hand. She felt naked as he passed his eyes over her from head to foot and almost screamed as the hand shot out to snatch the veil from her face which he then gripped in fingers more accustomed to holding a gun or a sword that the delicate face of a woman. He turned her head from side to side and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. The hand under her nose smelled of leather and something else, an almost metallic scent. And then as suddenly as he had grasped her face, he let her go and barked a command at her in Arabic.

"Cover yourself woman!" This one she understood, having heard it so often, and her fingers shook as she pulled the veil back up into place. He waved her away, and released by men that supported her still, she staggered. She was glad when the backs of her legs found a nearby chair.

"May I sit, sir?" she asked Adham, her voice trembling, unshed tears clogging up her throat. So this was the man he was giving her too.

"What? Yes, yes… sit!" he instructed, and then rattled off another string of rapid Arabic. She cursed herself for refusing to learn to speak the language proficiently. Not understanding what was going on around her made her feel like a child. She sank into the chair and dropped her gaze to her hands as they twisted the fabric of the dress she wore, shaking even while doing that. In the exchange that followed she thought she caught a name, Farhas, but little else she understood.

"You hef been crrryink, why?"

It took her far too long to realise that he was speaking to her. Not until Adham barked at her to answer her betrothed did she stammer, "I… erm… please…"

"She is a little overwrought," Adham said smoothly. "As, no doubt, my lord Farhas can see."

Farhas snapped something in an angry fashion at Adham and for a moment Melleha felt elated that there was someone in Egypt that was not afraid of him, but then turned his attention back to her. "So, I weel sent forrr you in three days."

"No!" She cringed even as she said the word, and saw Farhas's head snap round to throw an incredulous look in Adham's direction.

"I BEG your pardon!" He strode across the room and towered over her. She shrank even further back into the chair, and turned her face away – closing her eyes to await the blow that she knew must be coming.

"I meant no disrespect," she said. "Just that I cannot go then, it… I…"

"Darabha alashan kelet adabha!" Farhas snapped the words at Adham. These also Melleha understood, and had heard countless times before; as if her behaviour in her chambers was not bad enough, she had now earned herself another beating, and she knew that it would be a serious one.

"Get out!" Adham snapped over his shoulder, and she was more than happy to comply. As she fled from the room she heard the rapid exchange in Arabic start up again, and caught the words, "three days," as she finally reached the door.

* * *

Something wasn't right. 

It was nothing that he could put his finger on, just a multitude of senses all screaming at him to stop. He dropped his hand to the hilt of his scimitar and felt a number of those senses settle. He paused for a moment before pushing open the rear door to the museum and tucking the key back into his pouch.

He didn't turn on the light, he didn't need it. The darkness was his friend. Darkness… that was it. There should be lights… this was supposed to be a meeting. He stopped abruptly, and his scimitar came into his hand… already too late.

He felt the press of the dagger the small of his back… right over his kidney, and an arm clamped around his neck, another blade against his jugular. He cursed himself for the fool that he was.

"If it were my wish, Medjai, you would die before even one word of the Shahadah passed your lips." The words were a mere breath against his cheek. "Drop the blade!"

"Wahid, wait…" Ardeth's answer was cut off as Whisper pulled back with his arm. It pressed against his throat, half choking him.

"Only my family call me by that name!" The voice beside his ear was louder now, and coloured with anger. "And whatever you might think – after my sister, Medjai that does not include you!"

"Whisper, do not think…"

"Do not SPEAK to me Medjai swine! Listen, and drop the blade!"

Ardeth bristled, being caught of guard was bad enough, but the insults to his heritage, to his people. Imperceptibly he started to shift his weight from his heels, back to the balls of his feet. Slowly he started to lower the arm that held his scimitar, as though he was going to do as he had been told and drop it. His timing had to be perfect, he had to be ready. "I am listening."

"I did not come here to kill you… though nothing would give me greater pleasure…"

As he spoke Whisper released the pressure on his neck slightly and Ardeth exploded into action. As swiftly as he could he slid his left hand up against his neck and pushed the blade away, hissing in pain as the razor sharp edge sliced the side of his hand. At the same time he twirled the scimitar backward, hoping to find the man's leg, but the scimitar sliced through empty air as Whisper dodged aside, pushing against Ardeth so that he had to move forward or lose his balance. Knowing that having a man like Whisper at his back was more than dangerous, he spun on the spot and brought his scimitar up in time to turn aside a rapid knife blow aimed for his chest. Whisper came in with the second blade, a longer knife, the one he had held at his back and Ardeth was forced to give ground as he struggled with an injured hand to draw his own second blade and meet the man on equal terms.

"As you wish, Medjai!" Whisper snarled, and came forward in a blurring attack that kept Ardeth moving back, back out into the alley at the back of the museum and toward the open street. "I prefer it this way anyway!"

* * *

Lying on her stomach, awake and still sobbing from the pain in her back where she had been whipped for her insolence on the previous day, Melleha heard a distant noise that sounded like the ringing of a bell. It was coming from outside. 

Earlier, she had heard just a single horse arriving and had so wanted to go to the window, but the burning in her back had kept her from moving. She wondered what it was she heard, this new sound. It felt wrong to her, and in her head she heard a silent command for her to get up, to go to the window…

Moaning aloud, she rolled onto her side and then swung her legs around to sit up. "Aha!" she cried as the cool cloths fell away from her back. Her night dress was hanging over the bottom of her bed, and moving as slowly as she could, she pulled it on, and winced as it settled over her barely healed lacerations.

Each step she took woke new fire in her back, but she had to see what was happening. She couldn't explain to herself why it was so important for her to get to the window, but it felt to her as if the world were about to end and only by seeing what was happening could she possibly hope to stop that from happening.

When she got to the window she truly felt that her belief was true as she forgot to breathe. In the street below two men, both dressed in black, but one in the unmistakable robes of the desert people she had seen before were dancing a whirling dance… and in the moonlight she caught the flash of blades, reflecting its pale silver light.

* * *

Mesmerised. 

He'd quite simply never seen any man move as gracefully as these two did. Catlike, agile but strong in their movement, the fight went back and forth, first one gaining ground, landing a strike, and then the other. For a few seconds he forgot that he too was there for a reason; the very same reason that the man was fighting in the street below; to kill Ardeth Bay.

Slowly he raised the first of three crossbows. He didn't expect to miss, but he wanted to be sure. He wanted to collect his fee… and as much of the buried wealth of the Pharaohs of Egypt as he could carry out of Hamunaptra.

Carefully he lined up the fighting Medjai in the crossbow sights…

* * *

Slick with blood from his injured hand, Ardeth's scimitar slipped in his grasp as he tried to parry a particularly strong blow from the wiry man in front of him. Seconds later it flew from his grasp as he reversed the direction of the sweep in his blade and in desperation he blocked the incoming knife with his forearm, following through, in spite of the pain, to punch the assassin square in the face, though without any real force. The scimitar in his right hand, however, swept upward and bit into the man's side, before it was torn free and pushed away by the rush of the other man's blade. 

From the corner of his eye he saw the knife come in at him from the other side, so used the momentum of Whisper's late parry to spin himself around and catch the incoming knife with the flat of the blade. The impact sent it spinning into the dark street and the men were once more on an even footing.

Spinning again in the opposite direction, his robes flew up enough to obscure a low thrust aimed at Whisper's thigh, the assassin turned into the strike and stepped forward, catching the hilt of Ardeth's scimitar on his hip and deflecting what could have been a very bad wound. He closed his hand around the bracer on Ardeth's wrist, and Ardeth struggled to hold onto his blade as his hand was brought repeatedly down against the other man's hip bone, whilst trying to fend off the knife which the assassin had flicked to the other hand. His head was starting to swim from the tiredness and viciousness of the fight, and from the many wounds that he hadn't really noticed before. He was just starting to gain the upper hand, just about to pull away from the deadly clinch when the tide turned completely.

He thought at first that a second assailant had joined the fight, come up behind him to avoid his blades, and had punched him, hard in the back. Then he felt the burning pain that penetrated right into his lung. The sudden impact threw him forward, back toward Whisper and his waiting blade. He tried to turn, to avoid the knife and lost his balance as a second quarrel took him low down, on the right. His legs folded under him and he fell heavily to the ground.

* * *

"No!" Melleha let out a high pitched but quiet scream, but in the still Cairo night it sounded to her ears as though it had carried to the four corners of the Earth. It must have at least carried to the man in the street, poised with his dagger raised. She could see it glinting in the moonlight. And faintly she heard the clatter of wood against the stone of a wall, as she watched the knife wielding man melted away into the shadows. She strained her ears to listen for movement, and hearing nothing, knew she had to get to the fallen man. 

Never one to truly believe or put her faith in a God of any kind, after all how could God allow such terrible things to happen to her, she couldn't believe her luck when she found the house silent, and empty. Her cries had woken no one in the house.

By the time she reached the door she felt as though every single wound on her back had opened. She could barely see though her pain, but none of that mattered. Only one thought going through her head over and over again kept her putting one foot in front of the other. She had to help him.

Her heart sank as she reached his side. A small pool of blood stained the packed earth of the street. She knelt at his side, and for a moment couldn't decide where best to put her hands. She had to get him in, but where? And how could she hope to lift him? Lying there he seemed almost twice her size. Gingerly she pressed her hand close to the wound in his side, trying to stem the flow of blood. He let out a small cry of pain.

"Oh God, oh God, I'm sorry…" She snatched her hands away.

Weakly and obviously in a lot of pain, he spoke to her in broken Arabic. "Akhrej… al sahem"

"What? I'm sorry… I don't… Please tell me how to help you!"

"You must… take… out… the arrow," the voice that gasped the English words at her made her almost scream in shock.

Take out the arrow… that couldn't be too hard, could it? Almost closing her eyes she reached out for the shaft of the arrow she could see. She tried to pull.

"La!" He cried, "No… stop! Kkeff!"

"What? What did I do wrong?" She felt tears prickling at the back of her eyes.

"Break…" He had to stop, fighting for breath as he was. She saw him moisten his lips, and panicked more about the way he was breathing. Irregular gasping breaths. "You must… break the arrow, and push it through."

"I… I can't." She felt sick at the thought of it.

"You must," he said. "It… is… only way!"

Shaking… she had never shaken so much in her life, she reached out again and grasped the arrow as firmly as she could. He hissed and she could see him fighting not to express the pain as she struggled to break the wooden shaft. Just when, moaning in frustration and barely contained tears, she thought she would fail the arrow snapped, and she was able to push it through. She was not able to ignore his cry of pain.

"I'm sorry… I…. Oh dear God, there's another one." She leaned down closer to his face. "I can't do this."

"Please…" he gasped. "Just… break off the flight."

"Oh God, no, you can't…" Suddenly realising what he was going to do after she had broken off the flights from the arrow she almost shook him to try and gather his senses.

"I will… die if… I do not." His voice was barely a whisper, and for a second he met her eyes. It was too dark to see clearly the colour or anything other than his fear, his pain… and then saw it all lift away as the acceptance of his fate rushed in to take its place. "So… be it," he said. "Laa ilaaha…" he began, quietly.

"Oh no you don't!" Melleha recognised the words, and wasn't about to let him die. "If Allah wanted you, he would have taken you before I bloody well got here!" With all the strength she could find, and fighting to ignore the searing pain in her back she bent over him to grasp the arrow and to break off the flight. She was about to roll him backwards, to push the arrow the rest of the way through when once more he roused himself from his near unconsciousness.

"Wait!" he gasped. "Take… cartridge… gunpowder…"

"What… what do I do?" She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

"Spark…" He paused to try and catch his breath. "There is… flint… steel…" his hand waved weakly in the direction of his belt pouch.

Gunpowder? Spark? Suddenly it dawned on her what he was trying to tell her. She nodded and pulled one of the cartridges from his bandoleer, and took the flint and steel from his pouch. It took her a while and several fingernails to open the cartridge, and she had to try really hard not to spill the gunpowder. Setting everything onto the ground beside her she pulled his robe open.

"All right. I'm ready." She told him, not knowing if he heard or not. And clenching almost every muscle she had, she rolled him swiftly backwards, onto what was left of the arrow, and when it came through the front of his chest she grasped the barbed tip and pulled it the rest of the way through. Blood flowed freely from the wound, and for a moment all she could do was press against him to stem the flow. And then she tipped a small amount of gunpowder onto the front of the wound, and quickly stuck the flint and steel close by.

Sparks caught against the gunpowder, carried by gravity and blood through the wound in his body… and the powder fizzed a trail searing the wound, if not closed, then at least enough to keep him out of danger – for now. But where to go? Where could she take him? The house would be too dangerous… he would be found and Adham would probably finish what had begun out on the street. A sudden thought entered her head, the old stable block! It was relatively clean and no one ever went there. But how would she move him?

Trying to stand reminded her of the punishment her back had already taken, and she had to stop for a moment, to keep from crying out. She leaned down and hooked her arms under his shoulders, trying not to disturb the wounds too much, and biting on her own lip until it was bloodied to keep from crying out her own pain, she half lifted, half dragged the semi conscious man into the Al-Mahdi complex, and into the stable block. She barely managed to get him onto a low pile of tapestries before it all became too much for her, and she collapsed in exhaustion across his chest.


	2. Irrevocable

Forbidden Chapter two – Irrevocable

The alarmed cry from the bathroom adjacent to her room finally woke her from the doze into which she had slipped just before dawn. She moaned lightly, and then in horror when she realised why Firyal was making such a fuss.

_Only when she was certain that he was not going to die did she leave his side. She got as far as the doorway to the stable before she turned back. What if he stopped breathing? What if the wounds she had dressed opened again?_

_She sighed and, limping from her own pain, returned and lowered herself to her knees beside the tapestries on which he was lying. Hesitantly she reached out and pushed her fingers through the silky hair that had tumbled from beneath the head covering he wore to push it back from his face._

_Nomads from the desert… that was what her maid had called them, this man and his people. She ran her fingers over the strange marking on his face and forehead, fascinated by their mix of Arabic symbols and Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. It was almost as though two cultures met in him, she mused._

_She'd found other tattoos, on his arms and hands, and on his chest and back when she cleaned and dressed the many wounds he had suffered. They had added to her wonder and fascination for the undeniably handsome man whose life she had saved._

_He stirred as she touched his hair again, murmuring something in Arabic. It could have been a name, and his eyelids fluttered slightly. She almost jumped back, thinking that beyond all odds, he would wake and likely object to her familiarity. But he hadn't woken, had just slipped back into unconsciousness and that had given her the time to cover him with the blankets she had fetched from the laundry._

_She allowed herself one more light caress of his tattooed hand as she settled it against his chest, tracing the line of the three prongs that pointed to long fingers. He heart turned in her chest as, unbidden, her mind wondered what it might be like to feel the touch of those fingers against her cheek, or entwined with her own._

"_Enough Melleha!" she told herself aloud, and glancing through the doorway of the stable she saw that the sky had begun to darken toward dawn. She had to get back to her room before the household woke and she was discovered. Reluctantly she left him._

_When she got back to her room another problem presented itself. Her night-dress was literally covered with blood. If it had been on the back… _

_The thought of her back reminded her of her own pain. She stripped off the cotton garment and dropped it into the bathtub to run a little water over it. Then she turned her attention to the fire that was raging over her back, and began to try and bathe it._

By the time she had finished the pain was so great that it was all she could do to get back to her bed. She had completely forgotten about her night-dress.

"Melleha!" Firyal virtually ran into the room. Melleha thought she was acting as though she expected to find her dead, murdered in her bed by some intruder.

"Firyal, don't fuss," she moaned, and tried to move. The moan became almost a cry of pain as she felt as though the skin on her back were once more being flayed from her body. Wounds reopened where they had begun to close and she felt the warm trickle of blood again. She stifled the cry against her pillow and it came out as more of a sob.

"Oh my dear sweet…" Firyal came to her and lifted away the sheet from her back. "You should have called me, you should…"

"I only wanted to sleep…" Tiredness, pain and the worry of discovery got the better of her and tears came swiftly to her eyes. She reached out for the soaked nightdress in the other woman's hands. "I tried to wear it. I tried…"

"Hush… lie still." Firyal stroked her hair against the pillow and moved the nightdress aside. "It doesn't matter about it. I will throw it out. Do not worry for the mess, we can find another one."

"I hurt!" She sobbed.

"I know," Firyal said and walked to the bathroom once more and came back with a wet cloth which she dabbed gently against Melleha's back. She winced at even that gentle touch, and wondered how she had ever managed to do all that she had the night before.

"Try to lie still today. I will get some balm for you. It will feel better soon, I promise." Firyal continued, from the look on her face, and from the way she felt, Melleha did not believe her…

At least she hadn't had to explain about the nightdress.

* * *

Sameh reached up and pulled down the covering from his face and peered across the sand toward Cairo. Ardeth was late – a long time overdue. He sighed. 

As Ardeth's second it fell to him to decide what best to do. He looked up at the sky, to the sun that was almost directly overhead.

He closed his eyes to try and banish the first stirring of an unsettling flush of fear. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Ardeth would _never _be so late. He walked back down to the rest of the Medjai.

"We ride for Cairo," he said and swung himself up into the saddle and pointed to two of the nine men with him. "The rest of you return to the ninth tribe. We may yet need their help."

As loyal to Ardeth as he was, not a single man argued with his assessment of the need to act.

"Where will you begin?" The other Medjai moved his horse up beside him and, as he sometimes did with Ardeth, began helping him to tease out the knots of the situation.

"The museum," he answered. "That was where the meeting was to have taken place."

"And then? If you find nothing?"

"Then we will check with our other ally's within the city." Sameh glanced toward his warrior companions and added firmly. "We must find him. If something went wrong, he may have gone to them for help."

* * *

Sighing she picked up the crying child and cuddled her gently until she quieted. There was a palpable sense of fear among the dozen or so women who shared the honour of being wives and concubines to Farhas.

"Hush Tahira," she soothed the child of only eighteen months. Eighteen months… she had been lucky. Nursing the child – her third since her marriage to Farhas nine years earlier – had kept her from his bed. And with him soon taking yet another wife, who she thought she'd heard was two years her junior, she would be kept from it longer still.

She hated the man.

She didn't think there were actually any of his women who had any good feeling for the man they called their lord and master – or at the very least, husband.

"Ilham, give her to me." She looked up as another woman came toward her, holding out her arms for the baby. It was Zharah, Farhas' first wife. "He is asking for you, and his mood is not good."

"What?" Ilham leaped to her feet, cuddling her daughter close. "He said--"

"Whatever he said he's asking for you now, and if you anger him, it will be worse for you. For all of us," the older woman said.

Ilham felt her eyes prickling with tears, born half of fear at what might happen when she went to him. She rose slowly and handed the child to the Zahra. For a moment she felt the touch of the woman's hand on her shoulder.

She tried to be strong. When she had first arrived, at a very tender age, the woman had been almost a surrogate mother to her and had treated her kindly. Nine years later they were still the best of friends, but she didn't want to test that friendship.

"You should go," Zahra said, helping her to fix the light veil over her face.

* * *

Sameh frowned in frustration. The meeting at the museum had been a waste of time.

He decided that they didn't have the time for caution, and he and his companion strode boldly into the museum through the main door, turning more than a few heads before the curator could take them into his office. The man hadn't seen Ardeth since their last visit and did not even know the Medjai leader was returning.

Similarly their contact at the residence of Ardeth's friends from England had told him that they were not in the country.

A flash of black and white through the still crowded market place had him pull up sharply on his reigns. His Medjai companion almost rode his horse into the back of him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"That horse," Sameh steered the horse toward the nearby market trader. "The barding is Medjai."

"Ardeth's?"

"I believe so." He swung down from his horse as they reached the trader's coral. The trader looked up nervously as he saw the less that happy expression on his face.

"Sir, I--"

"Where did you get that horse?" he demanded.

"It was found wandering," the trader stammered. "I did check, but the owner--"

"Who found it?" Sameh waved away the excuses. He was not interested in what checks had been made or not, just where it was that the horse was discovered. His hand twitched toward his scimitar and the trader backed away a step. "Where was it found?"

"I can clearly see that it is a horse belonging to the Medjai," he said. "I return it to you with great blessings."

"The rider of this horse is missing. I must know where it was found." Sameh growled, thinking the trader stupid.

"Oh, oh... oh." The trader called for a teenage boy that was hovering in the rear of the coral and instructed him to tell the Medjai warrior where he had found the beast. Sameh listened and that unsettled feeling in the bottom of his stomach grew more noticeable.

"Come!" he instructed as she hovered in the doorway. Swallowing hard she stepped forward and found her voice.

"You sent for me, my lord," she said.

"Yes I did," he took her arm and drew her down into his lap, reaching up to pull her veil from her face. She whimpered and laughing he crushed his mouth against hers. His tongue pushed into her mouth filling her with the taste of the desert dust that he had not yet washed away with the fermented goats' milk he habitually drank. She was not sure which taste she preferred.

* * *

She had to resist the urge to slap him when he broke the kiss… her hands becoming fists against his shoulders. She tried to push him away.

"Not refusing me, my wife, surely," he said, his voice like the grating wind of the Sahara summer storms. His fingers closed around her breast and squeezed possessively. "Not when I have been so patient and waited so long for you."

"Patient?" the word burst from her lips before she could stop it, then she bit her lip as his hand fell away from her chest and began to climb beneath the dress she wore. He pressed the heel of his hand against her sex and she tightened her jaw against the unwelcome touch.

"After all these years you still think he will risk war and come for you, my little Medjai?" He mocked, and shrugged off the outer desert robe her wore. His touch lingered a moment longer before he let her go.

Her heart turned three kinds of somersaults as he said the name of her people. A people she longed for. It was only her loyalty to her father, and to her people that kept her from running from Farhas' harem. She tried to remember that she was there to prevent a war that had threatened their continuing existence. Her eyes filled with tears at that thought, held at bay only by the promise of a man she had remembered through nine long years. She stood and backed away, and would have fled the room, had he laughed as he usually did at her reaction to his taunting.

"Ilham." His voice rang out like a rifle shot, completely without humour. "Do not try me girl!"

"My lord, I…" She stopped and tried again, "Farhas, Tahira will need me she--"

"Can do without her mother for one night," he roared and pointed at the cushions beside him. "You have neglected your duties as my wife, and I mean to put that right. I have only one son by you – the rest you give me weakling daughters. Now bring yourself to my bed and do not make me bring you there myself!"

She hesitated, after eighteen months she had hoped herself free of his attention, free of the rage of his sexuality, and the humiliation of it. But as his muscles bunched in preparation for movement, she forced her feet to take her forward, and to lower herself beside him. Closing her eyes she reached out and began to unfasten the rest of his robes resisting the almost automatic reaction to flinch as he responded in kind.

* * *

Not caring that Cairo citizen virtually had to throw themselves out of the way of the horses, Sameh grasped the reigns of Ardeth's horse more tightly as they twisted at speed through the back streets toward the rear of the museum where he almost jumped from the saddle before he pulled his horse to a stop.

Light was fading, and if they were to learn anything, they would need to investigate quickly. His companion dismounted more slowly and held the reigns of the three horses to keep them back.

Sameh's heart sank as he approached the alleyway that led to the rear doorway and he saw the sand darkened with the unmistakeable stain of blood. His mind raced, adding up all the facts and suppositions that were spiralling round in his head. He settled on one clear fact. If it were not Ardeth's blood, then he would have returned to the meeting place.

"Sameh?" his companion pointed toward a nearby shallow gutter and the broken shaft of an arrow there.

"There was a battle here," Sameh said as he picked it up and his worst fears were confirmed as he found a small piece of black cloth from Medjai robes trapped in the badly made bolt. _Well enough made_, he though and looked back to the bloodstained ground. "And Ardeth is hurt."

"And taken hostage?" Sameh looked up as the man echoed his own thoughts. "But by whom?"

"I do not know," he answered and began to look for further clues as to who might have been responsible.

Footsteps behind them had both Medjai spin round, automatically reaching for their blades. Sameh relaxed slightly as the startled woman flattened herself against the wall of the estate that backed onto the narrow back street. Under his scrutiny he felt as though she shrank inside her Abbaya, such was often the reaction of the Cairo populace to the presence of the Medjai.

"Please, do not fear," he said. He tried to make his voice sound calm in spite of the growing concern for his leader. He glanced up toward a sky that was darkening into evening. "We will not harm you, but is it not a little late for a lady such as yourself to be walking the streets?"

"The lady I care for is sick. I had to get medicine from the souk," she said in a trembling voice. "I am not far from my home now."

"Then allow me to see you there safely. Whatever tales you have heard of the Medjai are not the truth." He tucked the broken arrow into his sash and approached the woman, still hugging the wall as she was. As if to prove his harmlessness, he reached up to pull down the covering from his face, to soften his appearance.

"I thank you, sir, but it is not necessary. I am by my gate now." She gestured with a hand toward the small gate in the wall that she hugged.

"You live here?" He cocked his head to one side.

"I serve here, and it is here I call home," she answered.

Sameh's heart skipped… it was a long shot, but perhaps the woman had seen or heard something of the battle that had taken place and could provide some clue to solving the riddle before him.

"There was a man," he said. "A companion of ours was attacked and hurt last night in the street here."

"I heard nothing last night," she answered, but lowered her head enough for him to believe that she had more to say.

"Go on," he prompted, stopping before her and straightening to his full height. She shrank away again.

"But the day before there were warriors from the desert that came into the city."

"What did they look like?" Sameh asked.

"Like most desert warriors," she answered with a shrug. "But I heard one of the men say the name Farhas."

"Farhaseed!" Sameh resisted the temptation to turn aside and spit onto the hardened ground. "Here in Cairo? How many, where…?"

She shifted back another step and looked as though she would bolt. Swiftly, almost without thinking her reached out and caught her by the arms.

"Please, sir, I do not know. Six, maybe more… and nearby here…" She pushed against him, right beside the hilts of his blades.

"Forgive me," he let her go and stepping back gave an almost imperceptible nod. "You have been most helpful. Is there anything--"

Before he could finish his sentence she slipped away and through the gate. He listened to her fading footsteps for a moment longer before turning back toward his companion.

"We have no more time. If the Farhaseed have Ardeth then we must--"

"Ardeth has forbidden any open attack on the Farhaseed as did his father before--"

"This is different." Sameh was well aware of the Medjai leader's decree, just not the reasons for it. "We must save our Chief."

* * *

Firyal breathed heavily and leaned against the rear door of the house. Her legs trembled and she could barely hold the small pouch she had been to fetch for Melleha's wounds. Medjai were the last people she expected to see as she returned to the al-Mahdi estate.

She pressed her sticky palms against the wood of the door and took in a deep breath. She had no idea why she had told them about the Farhaseed. She knew full well that they were the enemies of the Medjai, and that her words would likely spark conflict.

She cursed herself for a fool when she realised that Melleha would be caught up in the middle of it. Thinking of her mistress had her climbing the stairs quickly and she went straight to Melleha's room, to the woman shivering on the bed.

"Melleha," she quickly took off her Abbaya and sat on the side of the bed. "I'm back my sweet. I have the medicine."

"Firyal, please…" Melleha gasped between shivering breaths. "I'm fine, it's just the pain."

"You are not fine," she said. "Please, let me do this."

Melleha turned her head toward Firyal. "All right," she said.

She carefully peeled off the still damp cloth from the girls back and dabbed some of the wounds to take away the fluid that still seeped from the worst of the lacerations, apologising when Melleha winced.

"He cannot make you travel like this. It will make you sick," she said as she began to spread the thick, camphorous ointment over the wounds. Melleha hissed at the touch of it.

"I don't want to talk about it," she moaned. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, Melleha…" Firyal replaced the cloth over the young woman's back. "You know what he's done to you for refusing once. If you refuse again--"

"Let him kill me," she said into her pillow.

"You don't mean that." She placed a light kiss on the back of the girl's head. "Try to get some sleep."

* * *

"Home so soon Wahid?" Whisper spun around from the wall he had just scaled, his blades coming into his hands. The tall, black man he now faced raised an amused eyebrow. "I would have thought you and the Medjai would have much to speak of, given the news you brought him."

"Get out of my way, Loch-nah," he spat and pushed past the other man. He felt and heard the steps that fell in time with his as his brother's bodyguard matched him step for step.

"I am not _in_ your way. Believe me, if I were, you would not so easily enter your brother's home." Loch-nah moved ahead as if to prove a point and stopped in the doorway. "But I am puzzled as to why it is you never use the gate."

"I choose not to," Whisper answered. "And you would do well to remember your place."

"Or?"

He didn't answer. He didn't feel the need to do so to the hired help. He simply swept past the man in the doorway, demanding of the housekeeper who came running to take his outer clothes, "Where is my brother."

"I am here, Wahid," Amir said from the doorway of the lounge. "Must every homecoming be such a drama?"

"Must you always set your hounds on me the moment I set foot inside the courtyard?" he countered.

"Come, my brother," Amir held out his hand.

Whisper was tired. He did not want to play his brother's games… or to tell his brother how badly things had gone in Cairo. "What news of the Medjai. Was he grateful of the information?"

"Amir," he began slowly, but his brother must have sensed his mood, or perhaps finally noticed the blood stains on his clothing, many of which were his own.

"What have you _done_?" he demanded.

"I warned you about that one's arrogance," he snapped, refusing to be blamed for the mistake. "He would not listen to my counsel and attacked before I could deliver the news. All I did was defend myself."

"Defending yourself does not include killing a man!" Amir cried, and then he leaped up and started shouting to his guards to close the gates, to defend the wall.

Whisper sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. As always his brother was over-reacting. If what he had seen as he fled into Cairo's dark streets away from the badly injured Medjai was anything to go on, then both Medjai and Farhaseed would be far too busy fighting with each other to bother with Amir and his tired little empire.

"You," his brother returned pointing a shaking hand in his direction. "You have ruined us."

"I have done nothing," he said harshly. "So the Medjai leader is dead! Good riddance to him I say, charlatan that he was!"

"Charlatan maybe… but a charlatan that has protected us all these years from an even more ruthless warrior that would have swept over us long ago if not for the Medjai."

"Nadia--"

"Is _dead!_" Amir yelled. "And thanks to her sacrifice, we have _had_ the protection we needed to--"

"Sacrifice?" Whisper leaped to his feet and grabbed his brother by the front of his shirt. "She _killed herself_ because of what that bastard did to her and you have hidden behind his protection to escape having to deal with that!"

"I did not--"

"You have," he tossed his brother into a nearby seat. "You have turned a blind eye to what happened to our sister because the man responsible keeps you safe inside the little world where you believe you are king!"

"Wahid," Amir fixed him with a hateful look.

"I despise you," he growled. "And were you not my brother you would need to sleep _very_ lightly indeed."

He turned on his heels and strode out of the room, ordering the servants to draw him a bath and to bring him a young boy to help him bathe. He smiled when he thought of what he would do with the youth once they were alone.

* * *

It was an age before Melleha felt the house was quiet enough for her to risk making the journey down to the stables. The cotton fabric of her night dress, pressed against her back by the weight of her housecoat chaffed her injuries, making her feel each step that took her toward her secret charge.

Her hand reached out toward the door of the stable and trembled. She almost dare not open the door, fearing that he may have sickened or worse died without her care through the whole day. She took a deep breath and went inside.

She could see at once that he hadn't moved, which was probably a good thing, given his injuries. She winced as she sank to her knees at his side. He was still breathing and she felt a flush of relief.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she said quietly. "But I need to put on clean dressings. I hope I don't hurt you too much."

It was more for her own reassurance than it was for his, because truly she doubted that he would hear her. Carefully she peeled back the blanket so that she could reach the wounds on his chest and his side. From her pocket she took the jar of ointment that Firyal had brought for her back and set it to one side while she uncovered the wound at the top of his chest, beside the blue painted tattoos that graced his flesh. She wanted to pay more attention to them than she could, but had to concentrate on putting the ointment on the wound.

He moaned as her fingers, however gentle, contacted with his wounded and enflamed flesh, muttering something that she didn't understand in Arabic.

"It's all right. I'm sorry," she whispered. Her free hand went to his brow. He was hot, but not fevered, at least not yet and she hoped that the ointment might help prevent that from happening. If he caught fever, then she would have no choice but to trust in Firyal and enlist her help. For reasons she didn't care to examine, she didn't want to do that.

"La, Lamis kreff," she heard his words this time, but even though she understood the separate words, they made no sense.

"Ssshhh," she brushed her fingers through his hair. "It's all right. You're safe."

Lamis… it was a woman's name. Before that moment it had never occurred to her that he might be married. May have a string of wives and children in whatever oasis his people inhabited. She bit her lip and forced the thought from her mind that a man as strong and skilled and handsome as he, would more than likely have been married long since.

She placed a clean dressing over his wound and turned her attention to the second of them, blinking rapidly to banish the tears of disappointment from her eyes as she saw him in her mind, winding his arms around another woman, and then holding a child in his lap, so clearly loving them both with all his heart.

* * *

She closed her eyes and prayed that he would soon be sated, pressing her fingers into his hair as he lowered his lips and teeth to the side of her neck as he sweated above her, claiming her fully time and time again as he had the whole night through.

If she did not participate – she knew from experience – it would not be long before he called for her again. It was always the way. It was his way. She stifled a whimper as he nipped hard against her neck.

"I had forgotten what a fiery little thing you can be, my wife," he rasped against her ear. She felt sickened that he thought her so. She felt empty under his attentions, totally unmoved, except to feel revulsion.

"My lord!" A cry sounded from outside and he stopped moving, still buried inside her. "Farhas!"

The door burst open and he growled, but did not leave her body.

"What is it?" he threw the question over his shoulder even as she tried to hide from the view of his lackey.

"Medjai," the man was breathless from running. "Hundreds of them, gathered on our border."

This time he did get off. He pulled himself away from her and grabbed a robe to cover himself as she grabbed for the sheet to guard her nakedness. A flush of elation went through her, and she made the mistake of letting it show in her eyes.

"What is this witchcraft?" he grabbed her by the wrist that held the sheet over her and almost dragged her upright. She whimpered at the fury she saw in his eyes a moment before she saw nothing but stars, as he slapped her hard across the face then grabbed her hair in his hand.

"My husband," she said. Her voice sounded like a broken squeaker from a child's toy.

"Do not _mock_ me woman," he yelled and pulled back on her hair. She cried out in pain and let go of the sheet meaning to wrap her hands around his, to stop him from pulling her hair out, but the sheet started to slip and she was forced to make a grab for it.

"I'm not," she cried and almost begged him to believe. "I didn't know. How could I?"

He let her go suddenly and she fell back onto the bed. He swung round and fixed the man that had brought him the news with a furious look. The man backed away a step.

"What tribe?" he demanded.

"We cannot tell, it is yet too dark – we cannot see the barding on the horses." The answer trembled in the air for a second before Farhas turned her way again and pointed a finger at her roughly.

"Get out," he yelled. "And if I find they are his tribe I will send him your head as a declaration of war!"

* * *

"Jonathan, really!" Evy turned a surprised gaze her bother's way. "I can't believe I just heard you almost turn down an invitation to a party."

"I'm just not in the mood," he protested. "Besides, you know what these Masons are like… they're all funny handshakes and looking down on us mere mortals."

She laughed and started holding up shirts against his reluctantly present body.

"It's Lord Tollard's daughter's engagement party, not a Masonic ball," she said.

"You know that do you?" He threw a pleading look Rick's way which Evy didn't miss.

"Oh no you two don't! Those old dress shirts you both have won't do. You're getting new ones, and since the party is tomorrow evening, you're getting them now." She bustled both men toward the dressing rooms, glaring at the assistant in the gentleman's outfitters for not coming to her rescue. "Now get in there and try these on!"

"I don't know what you're so happy about." He threw a sour look Rick's way. "She included you in that you know."

"I know," Rick answered him. Meekly kissing Evy's cheek before grabbing his arm and pulling him into the gentlemen's dressing room. "I do find it funny thought, that you've known your sister the whole of her life, and you still don't seem to know what to expect."

"Yeah," Jonathan said sourly. "And her marrying you was the biggest surprise of all."

"Ouch," Rick laughed, in mock exaggeration of being deeply wounded by his words.

"And to think, I had the chance to get rid of her in exchange for a few camels," he added.

"Yeah." Rick grinned. "Instead you got rid of her in exchange for me."

"Except I didn't get rid of her and I still got you!" He handed one of the shirts to Rick. It was full of ruffles all down the front.

"You _are_ kidding." Rick handed it straight back, and grabbed the shirt with a swirl of embroidery down the front panel. "Ruffs are more your style… old boy."

Grumbling he started to unfasten the shirt he was wearing and slipped on the flamboyant dress shirt. "I knew I should have said something in the church that day."

"Yeah?" Rick advanced on him, fastening the embroidered shirt. "And if you would have I would have kicked your ass."

"I hope you boys are behaving in there," Evy called through. Both men stopped and turned toward the door and spoke simultaneously.

"Yes dear."

"Yes, old mum."

* * *

"_Mellehai," she ran into his arms and he spun her round, planting warm kisses against her cheeks and her neck. 'My Melleha' he'd called her. It was what he always called her, whenever he came back from the open desert._

"_Put me down," she giggled. He did just that, sliding her down the length of his body to ensure she felt the evidence of his arousal, his need to be with her._

"_Come to bed," he murmured against her mouth before he captured it in a deeply passionate kiss._

"_First you bathe," she pushed him away, giving him a push in the direction of the men's tent._

"_Melleha…" he moaned._

"_No, you--"_

Someone was gently shaking her shoulder, then stroking her hair. It interrupted the dream.

"Time to wake, little one," Firyal's voice broke in on her fantasy. She blushed as she remembered the content, and rolled over onto her back, instantly regretting it. She cried out and came fully awake.

"Firyal," she gasped. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that you were dreaming," the other woman smiled the kind of smile that made Melleha blush and hide her face. "Was he good at least?"

"He was…" she stopped. "Enough, it's none of your business what I dream--"

"It is when your dream keeps you from sleeping and you begin to look as though it has been weeks since you last saw a proper bed." Firyal held a looking glass up to her face and she saw the dark circles beginning beneath her eyes.

"It…" she had to think quickly, "It's the pain that keeps me from sleeping Firyal. The pain and the worry of him sending me to that barbarian."

"Then it is good news I bring you," Firyal said with a smile, and carefully helped her to sit up. "Mr Al-Mahdi received a message from the desert this morning. There is deep unrest there it seems and Lord Farhas does not want you involved in that."

"Lord," she snorted, but her heart soared. The unrest could continue forever so long as she was concerned if it would get her out of the hateful marriage that had been arranged. She sighed. Why couldn't she be in a marriage more like the one in her dream with the man she had found, and was currently trying to nurse back to health in Adham's stables.

"Let me help you to the bathroom, you can take a bath and then I can put more ointment on for you. It seems to have helped." Firyal said.

Melleha's heart constricted. She'd left it in the stable with the stranger, as she'd once more been in a rush to return to the house before anyone had woken.

"Don't worry about that, just help me to wash and dress. I've been lying in bed too much these last few days," she said quickly.

"But you must--"

"Please, Firyal, just do as I ask." Melleha stood up, wincing at the shooting pain in her back but trying to hide it as she set off for the bathroom… anything to keep Firyal away from the truth about what had happened to the ointment.

* * *

"Daddy, you are totally insane," Celia Tollard leaped up from the chair and pressed her hand against her chest. "Francis is almost the same age you are!"

"And he is well connected and wants you for his wife," her father answered with smooth authority. He didn't even raise his voice. "And you will marry him. The invitations to your engagement party went out weeks ago."

"How _could_ you!" she demanded. "Haven't I been a good enough daughter or something?"

"Celia, darling," he came around his desk and took her hands. "It isn't a matter of being a good daughter or otherwise. It's a matter of seeing that you are well provided for."

"And that your Freemason friends are kept happy," she accused. "Doesn't love matter to you?"

"You will come to love him, I'm sure," he answered.

"Well that just shows how well you don't know me!" she turned and started for the door.

"Celia," he said in a warning tone.

"Oh don't worry," she said in a matching tone, "I know my duty. And I won't embarrass you. You've already promised me to the man, so I can do nothing about being his wife unless you and he see fit to release me from the obligation. But you can't make me love him. I won't love a man old enough to be my own father!"

She ran down the hallway toward the door to the rear garden, pulling the pins from her long brown hair as she went, letting it stream behind her in a most unladylike fashion. She didn't stop running until she reached the ornamental pond at the bottom of the garden… one of the two places she always ran to when she was upset.

She didn't even _like_ Francis.

He had been a friend of the family for all her life that she could remember and she had never really even looked kindly on him. She looked at her reflection in the pond. She was pretty, her cheekbones high, her eyes just large enough to fit her face, and expressive too. She deserved better than Francis, a man well on the wrong side of forty with greying hair a growing belly and appetites to match. She shuddered. How could her father _do_ this to her? No worse than that, how could her father do it to her and wait to tell her until the day before her engagement? If he could do that, what _else_ could he do or had he done?

* * *

All day long she had been assaulted by a very bad feeling and she was sure it had to do with the man in the stable. By early evening, she was almost frantic with it, and so, as cautious as she could be she slipped out of the house and through the garden to the stable block.

Every few steps she looked behind her to make sure that there was no one that had followed her and satisfied that she was alone she approached the door. Then she stopped. What if the bad feeling was because he had been discovered earlier in the day? She shook her head. If that were the case then she would surely have heard something in the house.

She pushed open the door and went inside, waiting while her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She did not want to light the lamp inside just yet in case she alerted anyone to the fact that she was there. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that everything was still as she had left it and that her patient was still alive, and in fact when she moved closer to check on him, seemed to be doing a little better.

She was so engrossed in fact in checking over his wounds and the state of his health that she did not hear the door open behind her, or that anyone had entered the room until Firyal's voice cracked out like the whip that had almost flayed the life from her body earlier in the week.

"Get away from him!"

Melleha almost screamed until she realised who it was that all but yelled at her. Then she turned slowly, without moving away from the man to look at her maid servant.

"Firyal, he'll do me no harm, he's hurt, not even conscious," she said. "Come here. Come and see how remarkable he is."

"I've seen enough already." To her great surprise Firyal crossed the room and almost bodily dragged her away from him. "When will you learn to leave well alone? We cannot _have_ this man here."

"And what do you suppose we should do with him." Melleha stood and turned to face the other woman. "Ask him to get up and walk home. Look at him."

When her maid did not do as she was told she grabbed her arm and pulled her to a point where she could not help but see him.

"He's hurt. He nearly died I think," Melleha said. "Why do you fear him so much?"

Firyal pulled her arm out of her hand and moved away a step. "He is Medjai," she said.

"Medjai? What does that mean?" She looked down at the man. "Is he an outcast or something? Is that what those marks on his face mean?"

She stopped as she saw Firyal shaking her head. "The Medjai are an ancient race of warriors. Warriors for God who fight to protect the world."

"Then why--?"

Firyal turned to face her then. "And they are also the sworn and deadly enemies of the man you are promised to, and therefore al-Mahdi's enemies also."

Melleha's head was reeling. Ancient warriors… Adham's enemies…? What did all this mean to her? And why had she felt so compelled to save this man?

"Firyal we can't just leave him. We have to help him," she said.

"Can you imagine what would happen if al-Mahdi found him here?" Firyal demanded, but this time she walked to the man and knelt by his side, feeling at his neck for a pulse and then giving Melleha's handiwork a cursory check. "He would likely finish the job that whoever did this began."

"How is it that you know so much about these people?" Melleha asked, coming to kneel on the other side of him from her maid. "What did you call them Magi?"

"Medjai," Firyal corrected. "My mother was loved by a Medjai warrior and he was my father. I never knew him, but my mother always told me stories – much like yours."

"How romantic." her face took on a dreamy expression that was shattered a moment later by Firyal's harshness.

"La!" She pushed against Melleha's shoulder and she almost fell back to the floor of the stable. "No romance. This man is dangerous. From now on you are to keep away from here. Right away from him… and as soon as he is awake he must leave."

"Firyal--" she couldn't understand her maid's reaction.

"No, Melleha," she said. "Do not argue with me, little girl, especially when you do not know what you are talking about. You are too much a dreamer. It is time to put your feet on the ground. I know what you are thinking, but this man is not for you. He is not your means of escape from here. He is a dangerous man – a warrior that has killed people and would likely kill _you_ if the need arose. He has his duties, and among them is not to save poor little white girls from harsh realities of life in Cairo."

"You beast!" Tears welled up in Melleha's eyes at her maid's harsh words. She got to her feet and pulled her skirts straight. "I hate you!"

She ran from the stable and did not stop running until she had reached her room and thrown herself face down on the bed. She was certain that Firyal wouldn't care for the man well enough to keep him alive, that she would let him die just to spite her efforts.

* * *

"Mister and Missus Richard O'Connell and Mr Jonathan Carnahan," the doorman announced as Evy stepped up beside her husband and brother at the entrance of the party, a dreadfully formal affair. She saw Rick tug at the collar of his dress shirt as though it strangled him.

"My dear young woman, I remember you when you were a dot at your father's knee." Lord Tollard approached from the side of the room with his wife and daughter at his side.

"Lord Tollard," she greeted him with a slight curtsey.

"No, no my dear," he took her by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks. "You must call me Geoffrey. I knew your father well."

He gestured to the two women who stood with him, silently obedient.

"My wife Vera, and of course the lady of the day, my daughter Celia," he said.

Evy shook both women by the hand and congratulated the younger before turning her attention back to the host of the party and gesturing toward Rick.

"My husband, Rick," she said.

The older man held out a hand which Rick took into his own and pumped enthusiastically up and down. "Very pleased to meet you," he said.

"Yank eh?" Tollard said. "Well can't be helped I suppose."

"And of course," Evy took Rick's arm possessively to smooth over any potential hurt feelings, "you know my brother."

"Jonathan!" Tollard grasped him by the hand and looked as though he was going to shake her brother to pieces. "Still running round after that one elusive find old boy?"

"Not a bit of it, Geoffrey," he answered, taking back his hand and nursing it somewhat. "Quite well settled now thanks to a… erm…" Evy nudged him and gave him a warning look.

"Growing up a little bit at last," she said.

"Growing up? My boy Jonathan?" Tollard laughed. "Never, eh what?"

But Jonathan wasn't listening. He hadn't even heard anything beyond the warning that Evy had given him, albeit silently, not to mention the events in Egypt that had led to their current state of good fortune, because in that moment he had turned his head to look at the woman behind Lord Tollard.

She was tall, and slender, but not too skinny that she looked ill. Her dress was pale gold and flowed around her like a river of silk in attendance to her every movement. Her hair, chestnut brown, was piled on top of her head, but still one or two wisps escaped to caress her face as he, in that moment longed to do, beside the gentle blue eyes and little button nose she had. She was, quite simply, the most perfect creature he had ever seen.

She looked up in that moment, giving him the same frank look that he had given her and their eyes met. He saw her sigh, and she gave him a faint sad smile that faded almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"Jonathan?" Tollard called to him and reluctantly he came back from the bright place he'd inhabited a moment before.

"What, sorry," he said absently, "A little distracted."

"Good God, man, already? Over what?" Their host demanded somewhat crossly.

"Well… erm…" he stammered.

"Daddy, I rather think Mister Carnahan looked like a man in need of refreshments." The young beauty, he struggled to remember her name, came to his rescue.

"What?" Tollard frowned, still not following what had just occurred – and probably a good job too, he thought, suddenly remembering that this was an engagement part – no not _an_ engagement party, _her_ engagement party.

"A drink, father." She rolled her eyes. "Goodness, you're so hopeless sometimes."

"Oh yes… yes of course, forgive me." Tollard said, "Here am I jabbering about old times and you're not even properly in the door. Celia, be a good girl and go and take Jonathan inside and find him something to drink."

She smiled at him then and gestured past herself, but being the gentleman he was, he came to her side and offered her his arm.

"Thank you, Mister Carnahan, how very polite of you," she said.

"Not at all," he answered. Then he added conspiratorially, "And please Miss Tollard, call me Jonathan."

"Well then you must call me Celia," she smiled up at him, and he thought his heart would burst. "Tell me, Jonathan, what was it your sister stopped you from saying in front of my father."

"Oh that." he gestured vaguely around the hall. "Nothing important."

"No, please… tell me," she said. "I'm interested."

"Well we, erm, we were recently on a… erm, on a dig in… Egypt and we brought back rather a lot of artefacts," he confessed, leaning in to tell her quietly.

Roses… she smelled of roses and something else… lilies. It bit at the most masculine part of him and made him want to sweep her into his arms and carry her away from whatever sadness he had seen in her when their eyes first met.

"Oh I see." That sadness surfaced again as he confessed his terrible secret, as though he had reminded her of something terrible. "My fiancé is an Egyptologist. I'm sure you and he would get along famously."

She turned and pointed out a man in a smoking jacket where everyone else was in formal dress. He looked in that direction and then not believing what he saw, he looked a second time. The man looked as though he was older than the girls own father. He turned back to Celia and saw his own horror mirrored quietly and sadly in her eyes.

"Celia…" he tried to find words, but for once in his fast talking life none would come.

"I think perhaps it would be better if I went back to my father," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "But for all of five minutes it was a glorious notion. Thank you, Mister Carnahan."

Without another word she turned and walked back to her father's side.

* * *

Lamis tossed and turned in her bed. She couldn't get comfortable. She couldn't find comfort, not with Ardeth hurt and out there somewhere.

It all kept coming back to him. Even though he'd told her they would never be. He was the first man she had ever really loved and for a while she had believed that he too had loved her. It would take her time to leave that fact behind, if ever she did.

She rose silently, and pulled on an outer robe to keep the chill at bay before she wandered outside the tent. She didn't go far… she wouldn't. Not with the news that had come back from their warriors on the Farhaseed borders, together with those of the of the third, sixth and eleventh tribes. It was not good news. They were at war… it was a war that had been avoided for the better part of her life, nine years or more in fact.

And all because of Ardeth, because they had her love and he was hurt.

"Be safe, habibi," she said quietly into the night air. "And come back to us. Come back to me. I need you too much to say goodbye like this."

* * *

The last time he remembered being so drunk was the time he had fallen asleep and woken to see ancient warriors and corpses thousands of years old walking around.

He wandered out through the open patio door into the garden. He stood for a while, just looking up at the sky and trying to make sense of his evening.

He'd met the most beautiful, perfect woman he'd ever met in his life only for her to be engaged to another man who was old enough to be her father. He sighed when he thought how obviously unhappy she was about the engagement. Sometimes he hated British High Society.

To clear his head he decided to take a walk in the garden, and soon came across the box-hedge maze that was the centrepiece for the lawn.

"No sense in getting lost in there, Jonathan old boy," he said aloud and turned to go back to the party, meaning to find his host and excuse himself.

A sound coming out of the darkness made him stop, the sound of a small, half stifled sob and it came from the maze. Setting a firm, manly expression on his face he took a deep breath and set off to find his way in and he found, by keeping his left hand against the leaves and accepting the odd wrong turn here and there he made better progress than he would have, had he simply tried to find his way.

She was sitting on the bench in the maze's ornamental centre, her hands against her face, her barely clad shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Celia?" he said with much concern in his voice.

She leaped to her feet and turned to face him, trying to wipe away tears that wouldn't stop falling, and shivering from the cold.

"Jonathan!" she sounded shocked, as though he'd caught her doing more than just crying.

What did he mean, _just_ crying? Sobering up in double time, he quickly he slipped off his jacket and put it round her shoulders.

"I mean," she said more meekly, "Thank you Mister Carnahan, it's terribly kind of you to give me your jacket. It's awfully cold out here and I didn't realise it would be and…"

He waited until she ran out of steam and lost out to the gathering tears again before he actually reached for her to draw her head onto his shoulder. To his surprises she didn't try to pull away, instead she gripped the front of his shirt and let her tears fall freely.

"I preferred it when it was Jonathan," he said softly and held her gently against him, sharing his warmth with her.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I don't know why I was so horrible to you when I found out what it was you did. It's stupid really to hate all Egyptologists just because my father has me promised to the most boring, beastly man I've ever met."

Sobs overtook her again and he just rocked her tenderly from side to side until she quietened again.

"I suppose because I allowed myself to believe for just a moment when I saw you that everything was all right." She pulled back a little and then looked up into his eyes. "That there was still hope for me."

"Celia, it can't all be that bad," he said gently. His heart skipped a little when he realised what she meant… that she felt as he did. "I'll help you. If you really don't want to marry this man then there has to be a way for you to get out of it."

"Help me Jonathan? How?" She reached up a hand to press it against his cheek. "If my father knew you were even out here with me, he'd kill you. You don't know the kind of power he has."

"Bigger and older men than he have tried, my sweet, believe me." He stopped speaking when she pulled out from his arms and walked a few steps away before turning back around to face him.

"This is ridiculous," she said mournfully. "Look at us, we've only just met."

He followed her and took her gently by the elbows. "We may have only just met, Celia, but I know how I feel. And I know that seeing you like this… it hurts me too."

"He wants to take me with him, on a dig of his in Egypt," she told him. "Father thinks it will be a terrific idea – a chance for us to get to know each other. But I'm afraid."

"Why?" he smoothed back her hair from her forehead, and saw her eyes close at the gentle touch of his hand.

"I don't trust Francis," she said, and tears came to her eyes again.

"Please don't cry," he said, "I hate it, Celia, look, I have friends in Egypt. Perhaps I can get someone to watch over you… and who knows… maybe even Evy will be--"

"Evy?" she interrupted, accepting the handkerchief from the pocket of his dinner jacket; it was actually one he had borrowed from Rick. "What does your sister have to do with anything?"

"Well," he said and he smiled a little sheepishly. "Just for the record, it's actually my sister that's the Egyptologist. I'm just the erm… big brother. Looking out for her, you know?"

"Yes," she breathed, and reached up to brush back a windblown strand of his air. "I can see that very well."

Time stopped for him as he wrestled with his conscience, but she looked so beautiful and so vulnerable, and yet strong at the same time. Her face was upturned toward him; her hand was in his hair… Slowly it started to fall toward his shoulder and she called his name lightly as he closed his eyes and looked down.

He opened his eyes again, to find hers, as before giving him that same sad look of longing and need. This time before he could start thinking again, he acted. Easing her closer he lowered his lips to find hers.

It was a gentle kiss, a pressing of his lips against hers, but then she gasped. He never knew why, nor even cared. He just knew that in that moment, when he once more captured her beautiful lips beneath his, and began to caress them; when the sensations and impression started to rush in from all sides that he wanted to be with her, to give her everything he was, and to protect her more than life itself. And it didn't matter in that moment that she was already promised to another man… only that she didn't want to be.


	3. Escalation

**Forbidden Chapter 3 – Escalation**

"All right Jonathan, enough is enough. You've paced that piece of carpet and kicked the leg of that chair at least a dozen times in the last two minutes." Evy looked up at her brother's dreadfully serious face. "What's the matter with you today?"

"What?" he spun around to face her. "Me? Nothing… Got the wrong man again, Old Mum."

"Hogwash!" She grasped his hand and pulled him down onto the couch beside her, putting her book aside at the same time. "You've lied to me once and got away with it, but that doesn't mean to say you're going to do it again. There's something wrong and I want to know what it is."

"You wouldn't understand, you--"

"Jonathan… we've always come to each other before… with our problems I mean. Why are you shutting me out now?"

He took her hand and gave her a faint smile, which she returned and playfully thumped him on the shoulder.

"If I… If I tell you something Evy, you've got to promise me that you'll keep it to yourself, and not tell anyone, not even Rick," he said.

"He's my husband," she answered. "Alex's father, I can't keep secrets from him."

He gave her a helpless look and then shrugged, starting to get up to resume his pacing, but she grabbed his hand again and pulled him back down.

"It can't possibly be _that_ bad," she said. "It's something to do with what happened yesterday, at Lord Tollard's party isn't it?"

"All right," he sighed. "When I went for a walk in the garden I met with Celia. She was rather upset and I wondered why."

"And?" Evy eyed him shrewdly. He could feel her searching his face for any sign of deception. "It wouldn't surprise me if she's she awfully unhappy about that marriage of hers… I mean, did you get a look at the man he's… why he's old enough to be her father and he's--"

"Taking her to Egypt on a dig. Only she doesn't trust him." he finished, pleased that he didn't have to skirt round anything more personal. Evy was his sister, and so help him he loved her more than anything, but he didn't think she's understand, and being a married woman herself certainly wouldn't approve of their dalliance in the maze the previous night.

"What do you mean she doesn't trust him?" she frowned.

"We'll you know," he said, uncomfortable again and gesturing helplessly with his free hand. "Not to… well get a little fresh I suppose."

"Oh, is that all," Evy dropped his hand and sighed. "Honestly, Jonathan, sometimes you're hopeless. Such a sucker for a pretty girl's sob story."

"Evy, it isn't like that… it isn't just that." The words burst out of his lips before he could censor them.

"What then?" She settled herself back against the couch and regarded him coolly.

"You're right. She doesn't want to marry her fiancé, but she won't dishonour her father, because you know what these Masons are like… and with this dig and all – she's worried that--"

"Just where _is_ this dig?" A frown found its way onto Evy's face.

"Well she didn't know exactly, just knew the name of the place… somewhere erm…" He twisted the corner of a cushion. "Place called Esna, just the other side of the Nile from Luxor. About fifty miles as the crow flies from erm… from Thebes."

She looked at him in surprise that he knew so much.

"I looked it up on a map this morning--"

"And have been pacing ever since." She looked over at him. "You know we have to tell Ardeth, don't you?"

He nodded.

"And that's what worries me," he said. "Francis Gray doesn't strike me as the kind of man that would take too kindly to being told what to do by a bunch of desert rats – because that's what he'll think of Ardeth, you know?"

Evy sighed. "Yes, I know. And poor Celia will probably get caught in the cross fire." she said and stood up.

She put the nail of her thumb in her mouth and, nibbling slightly started to pace the floor. Back and forth she went several times, looking deep in thought.

"Aha, I've got it!" she said at last, kicking the leg of the very same chair she had only moments ago stopped Jonathan from kicking. He frowned at the inequality of it, but looked up in interest at the triumphant surprise on her face. "I'll just have to persuade my friend Mister Laski that it would be a good idea to invite the O'Connells along on that project of his over in Karnak. Then you can come along, and we can all keep an eye on each other."

"Rick isn't going to like that," Jonathan said. "And what about Alex?"

"Alex will be fine," she smiled, "He loves hearing stories about Egypt. It will be exciting for him… we can take the governess with us and they can stay in Cairo."

"Oh no!" Rick's voice from the doorway of the room made him jump he had been so engrossed in his sister's planning. "We are NOT going back to Egypt."

* * *

Breathing hurt.

In fact he could barely take deep enough breaths to keep him from feeling light headed without being gripped by the most terrible pain he had ever experienced. It was how he knew, with certainty, that he was still alive.

With his eyes still closed he replayed the battle in his mind, to try and put the pieces together. Wahid had wanted to tell him something, but through his incautious impatience they had ended up fighting. Had Wahid done this?

_He thought at first that a second assailant had joined the fight, come up behind him to avoid his blades, and had punched him, hard in the back. Then he felt the burning pain that penetrated right into his lung._

He reached up a slow, hesitant hand toward his chest and finally opened his eyes.

Moving brought new agony coursing through his strained muscles, and opened the many smaller wounds on his arms and shoulders. In the name of Allah it had been a bitter fight.

It was daylight outside, but wherever he was it was cool and dim, yet even that small amount of light stung his eyes as he opened them. How long had he been unconscious? Where was he? And who was it that had brought him in off the street where he had been all but ready to die?

He pushed the questions aside for the time being, needing to see how badly he was injured. He'd had enough injuries to know that the hurt did not necessarily match the damage done. Still moving dreadfully slowly, he forced himself up onto his elbows, biting back the cry of pain that gathered in his throat and looked down at the mess on the front of his chest as he peeled back the dressing. He was only able to sit up long enough to get a fleeting glance of the redness and inflammation surrounding the wound that had yet to close, or even dry over. As he all but fell back against whatever made his bed he thought it couldn't have been all that long since he was hurt, but when the room began to spin and nausea clamped its steel band around his stomach, he began to fear that he might be wrong.

Breathing more shallowly to try and banish some of the pain that moving had caused him he closed his eyes and tried to remember more of what had happened. There had been a second crossbow quarrel, in his side, well that explained why moving had hurt so much…

_Hands pressed against the wound in his side, he knew to staunch the flow of blood, but the pain was unbearable and he cried out. A woman's voice said something, but incoherent with the pain he couldn't tell what it was she said, and then she snatched away the touch. The pain receded enough for him to breathe, and more importantly to think._

_Bolts, from a crossbow… an assassin's attack_

So that was what Wahid had been trying to warn him about in the museum. He'd been trying to tell him that that someone had put a price on his head; had probably tried to hire "Whisper" to take it, but no doubt his brother had forbidden it, and sent him with the warning to ensure that Medjai would continue to protect them. But who was the woman?

_Her hand was shaking as she reached out to do as he had asked her, and break the arrow so that it could be removed. The hands were slender, and not all that strong, as she struggled, causing him further, but necessary pain, to break the slim wooden shaft. He'd not been able to swallow the cry when it did break and he though he saw her eyes fill with tears at his pain as she apologised._

"_There's another one," she said in horror and leaned closer to his face. In the dim light he couldn't see much, and he was concentrating on the sound of her voice, and the words she spoke, trying to stop his mind from drifting away with the pain of it all._

He fought to try and remember that face now, but he couldn't quite bring it to mind. He couldn't quite remember if she was from Cairo, or perhaps an outsider. It was a rare person in Cairo that would help a man that had been fighting on the streets for fear of being thought involved themselves.

Perhaps she was someone loyal to the Medjai, that had recognised him and…

"_Akhrej… al sahem,"_

"_What? I'm sorry… I don't… Please tell me how to help you!"_

"_You must… take… out… the arrow," he repeated, gasping the English words at her._

So then, an outsider, since any ally of the Medjai would likely have understood the Arabic words? He growled at the confused knot of information in his head. This was ridiculous. He had to know where he was. He needed to tell his men where he was. Sameh would be frantic by now… had probably torn up half of Cairo looking for him… He tensed every muscle in readiness for forcing himself to his feet and threw back the blanket covering him.

"No! Sir, do not!"

The woman's voice rang out urgently in Arabic and startled him into falling back against his bedding, where he lay breathless from his effort. She came to his side and he opened his eyes again to look at her.

Her braided hair and face were covered with a gauzy black veil thread through with gold strands, but other than that her dress was modest. She probably served whoever owned the place he was in. Her eyes expressed a mix of admiration and fear. The hand that pressed him back against his bedding was warm, but trembled.

"What is this place?" he gasped.

"The former stable of my master's home," she answered. Her voice shook as much as her hand. "And he would not be pleased to find you here, so you must lie quiet and allow yourself the time to heal."

"I am in your hands," he said, and acquiesced to the gentle touch that slowly and carefully began to set about changing his dressings and cleaning his wounds. He watched her, hawk like, not through mistrust, but trying to gain a measure of the woman and noticed that she would not meet his eyes.

"How long have I been here?" he asked at last, wincing as she eased aside his robes from the gash on the side of his hip.

"Three days almost," she answered.

The words burst through him, finally letting the pain and worry both get a hold. _Three days_. A Medjai three days overdue was likely to be thought of as slain. In spite of his pain he could not lie there a moment longer and allow his friends and family the misery of believing him dead. Finding strength from somewhere he pushed the woman's hands away from his hip and started to struggle to push himself upright.

"Please stop, before you hurt yourself more." She once again pressed her hand against his shoulder to push him back down to the bed.

"Let go of me!" he snapped, lacking the strength to fight her, he relied on her cultural conditioning to have her do as he said.

"I will not allow you to cause your own death with stupidity, First Medjai!" She did let go, but only to sit back on her heels and almost spit the bold words his way. He looked up at her in surprise, then suspicion as she used his title.

"Tell me quickly, girl, how do you know of me?" he demanded, the tone mildly threatening, though he knew that if she were to challenge that threat, in his current state there would be nothing he could do.

"My father was Khaleel Quraysh, Horse Master of the sixth tribe by Dalal, a dancer here in Cairo." She looked down at her hands that were in her lap. Even through the gauzy veil he could see the blush. She nodded toward the leather that held the length of indigo fabric together in the centre of his chest, tooled with the mark of the First Medjai. "The knowledge is there, for anyone with eyes to look."

"And knowing this, you saved me." he said.

He had known Khaleel. He was a good man, who died defending a woman and his daughter from a brawl that had turned ugly in one of the local casbahs. As a younger warrior his father had drummed the tale into him to have him avoid the dangers of such places.

"I am at your service, my lord," she answered, and briefly touched her hand to her stomach, heart and forehead in quick succession. "I could not allow you to die."

He blinked. She'd lied, but why? Who was she protecting?

"You have my thanks, daughter of Khaleel," he said. "And the thanks of your people."

"Firyal." she shook her head. "And no thanks are needed. Now no more talking, First Medjai. I must see to your injuries."

"My name is Ardeth." He closed his eyes in fatigue and let her go about finishing what she had started. He thought over all that she had said to him… about her master; about the length of time that he had been with her; and about the possible consequences of his being missing for so long. "Firyal, there is something you must do for me."

"What m… Ardeth?" she asked.

Weakly he struggled to take off the leather from where it held together the two sides of indigo fabric. He handed it to her.

"Go to the museum," he instructed fighting the need for sleep. "Ask to see the curator and give him this. Tell him I am here and that he should send for my men to come for me."

"But you are not yet well enough to travel," she sounded alarmed.

"Do not _argue_ with me Firyal," he said, then to give her one last chance to tell him the truth he added. "I cannot stay here, not when it endangers the woman that saved my life."

"I will go tomorrow," she said, and covered him with a blanket. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He did not like lies.

* * *

Hidden in the shadows of the stable, beyond the wall of the small stall that was the only one still standing, Melleha concentrated harder than she ever had before to try and follow the conversation that her maid was having with the man. She wanted to talk to him herself. She wanted that _so_ much, but Firyal had frightened her with talk of vicious warriors and strange curses.

For the second time in as many weeks she cursed herself as an idiot for not learning to speak more Arabic; for being a stubborn young woman and refusing to admit that it was a language she would need to know.

Firyal was deferring to him, she noticed that straight away, and she was afraid too. He couldn't be just any warrior – what had she called them – Medjai. He must be an important man.

"I cannot remain… woman… my life…" There were too many words she didn't understand. She thought really hard. "Xatar… danger… danger, woman." She whispered to herself, trying to make his last words make sense.

It hit her in a sudden, sickening flash of inspiration. He thought Firyal was the one that had saved his life, and that his being there put her in danger and her _loyal_ maid had not corrected him. _Some loyalty._

She felt tears prickling at the back of her eyes. This wasn't right. _She'd_ been the one that had saved him, at great pains to herself… literally. She moved and her dress caught on the causes of that pain, she bit her lip to try and stop herself from making any sound.

"I must leave you," she understood that phrase quiet well enough.

"I am fine," he answered… no wait, that's wasn't right. "I _will be_ fine." He was giving her leave to go.

Melleha swallowed hard, now was her chance. If she wanted to talk to him, all she need do was stay where she was, wait until Firyal left and then step out into the room and…

She shrank back against the wall as Firyal's steps came close to her hiding place and slipped through the door into the late afternoon air. She turned and peered through the crack in the stall.

He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, and looked as though he was still in a lot of pain. His brow was creased in a frown that she longed to smooth away with the soft touch of her fingers before she would stroke them through his…

"Either show yourself, or leave me," he demanded quietly.

* * *

He heard the sharp intake of breath as he commanded for the other to reveal herself. He had noticed her presence during his conversation with Firyal. She had whimpered slightly and it unlocked another memory…

_The small, slight woman barely managed to get him onto a low pile of thick cloths before she fell across his chest in exhaustion. He tried to move her as even her light weight pressing on his wounds made him feel as though he would lose his grip on consciousness. He feared if he did that, he would lose his grip on life._

_He ran a hand over her back, trying to find a place to grab a hold of the light cotton dress she wore. Even in her exhausted state she had cried out in pain._

So this was the person that Firyal was protecting. Hearing movement, he turned his head and saw in the dim light the flash of colour as the woman he'd challenged fled the stable.

* * *

"Sameh, listen to me." Marzuq reached up and grabbed the bridle of the man's horse. "You cannot, nor can any of your warriors, visit the heart of the battle. Farhas will recognise you as First Tribe and will act accordingly."

He sighed. He wanted to tell Sameh why, but he would not betray the confidence of the man that had been as a son to him, or that of his father before him.

"Marzuq with all due respect, we are Ardeth's warriors--"

"And he has decreed that no Medjai will battle openly with the Farhaseed. You have already broken that command when you sent in the warriors from our tribe and of the others… but if you take horses barded thus," he flicked his hand against the black and white tassels that hung from the horses bridle, "you will do more harm that you could ever know."

"Then tell me _why_, Old One!" he demanded, holding up a hand to stop the others from moving forward.

"That cannot be, Honoured Second." Marzuq shook his head. "Just trust that our First Medjai has forbidden it for a good reason that if he wishes, when he returns to us, he will tell to you."

"And what if he's dead?" Sameh's expression and the catch in his voice told the older man that he hated saying the words, and then Marzuq caught the flash of his daughter's dark blue robes swirling out as she turned and ran. "What then of his decree?"

He sighed. "If it is proven to me that Ardeth is no more then perhaps matters would be different. But for now you cannot go to the battle."

"And I cannot stay away." Sameh ordered his men to stand down and Marzuq knew his words had been heard. Around him the warriors of the First Tribe – Ardeth's own personal band of brothers – began to dismount. "What kind of leader am I to shy away from battle?"

"I understand your frustration," Marzuq answered smoothly. "But you, as Ardeth has, must learn that to be the flavour is not always to be in the thick of the soup. Trust your commanders, my friend. They will bring you word when word is to be had."

* * *

"Where did you get this?" The man looked up from the leather fastening she handed him and pinned her to the seat with his eyes.

"He gave it to me," Firyal answered. "And told me to bring it to you."

"Who?"

"You know who." In spite of Ardeth's instructions she was not sure she trusted the man enough to speak of the First Medjai to him.

"So," The curator put the clasp onto the desk in front of him. "He told you to tell me what exactly?"

"He said to tell you where he was and to instruct his men that they should come for him." She said. "They will need a litter as he cannot ride, or even stand."

"And how will I know his men if you do not tell me who it is that gave you this?"

Firyal fixed him with a searing stare, trying to work out the truth of the man. He returned the look in equal measure until she reached out and closed her hand around the item given to her by a man that was seriously ill and did not need these kinds of games being played around him.

She almost screamed when, lightening fast, the man's hand flashed forward and grabbed her own. As his sleeve fell back along his arm, she spotted the tell tale blue of the three pronged tattoo that graced his forearm.

"Where is my First Medjai, woman?" He asked in a quiet tone.

"Right under your nose, Medjai," she answered, more annoyed to have been played with herself than at the tone of his voice. "If you leave by the rear of the museum, there is a small street. Across that street is a gateway that leads in to the home of Adham al-Mahdi. Ardeth is badly injured and hidden in the stable block, and must remain hidden and be collected when the house sleeps, for al-Mahdi would not be pleased to know that he harbours the First Medjai in his home."

When he let go of her wrist she dropped the leather fastener back onto the desk and rubbed the circulation back into her fingers.

"Did you see what happened?" The curator looked more than a little worried at her words.

"I did not," she answered quietly. She knew she had to continue the lie to protect Melleha from having anything to do with the Medjai, from even knowing too much about them. If she were destined for Farhas, then the less she knew the better. "I was walking in the garden and heard his cries of pain. It was all done when I got to him."

He dismissed her then, and as she left she found herself wondering just how many others that she met in her day to day life were of the Medjai or even just loyal to them. She also worried that she might be discovered in her deception and called to answer for her untruths.

* * *

"Evelyn, my dear, I was so honoured when I got your message," Rick shot a glance to Evy as she greeted one of her Egyptologist friends with a warm handshake. "Is this something to do with the museum or--?"

"No, not at all, this is all personal." She smiled and waved her hand in his direction. "This is my husband, Rick."

Rick found his hand taken in a firm and warm handshake. "So this is the dashing young man that tamed our Evelyn is it?"

"Tamed?" he asked pointedly, more to Evy than to the other man, "I rather doubt that."

He shared the laugh that the other man gave at that proclamation, but didn't really feel much like it. There was something going on; something to which he wasn't privy and it didn't feel right to him. He just didn't like it. He had one of his near legendary bad feelings about it. He thought about having it out with Jonathan when his brother-in-law returned, but Jon had seemed so melancholy in the last few days that he felt wrong in blaming him for something about which Evy should be talking to him.

"So, you want to be involved in the dig at Karnak?" the man called Laski said to Evy. Rick's stomach turned. Egypt… he hadn't realised how much being in that country troubled him until he got out of it. They'd been back a couple of times since their marriage… in fact Evy insisted that Alex had been conceived on the banks of the Nile… but the thought of the place always left him feeling a little uneasy. He would be quite happy if he never had to go back again, and yet here was his wife proposing to be a part of a dig that would have the whole family, child, governess and all running back to a place that for him had mean little else than sand and blood.

Of course a good friend too, he gave a little snort, that had Evy and Laski look in his direction, no doubt thinking that something in their conversation had inspired the sound of derision, but he waved his hand to encourage them to continue. There was little point in him actually being involved in the conversation as Evy had obviously already made up her mind to go. Of course he'd try to change her mind, but he knew he could never deny her anything that she'd really sent her heart on… and she obviously had on this.

His mind drifted back to the topic of his friend… their friend, Ardeth Bay, leader of the Medjai. So strange that he had become one of their closest and dearest friends, even though they rarely saw each other after their first encounter had gone so badly. He smiled wryly to himself. The second time they had showed up in Cairo, and ridden out into the desert on a miniature trek, as much to be on their own as to actually _find_ anything, they had been found by Ardeth, who had watched them hawk like, no doubt to make sure they weren't there to cause trouble. On each of their subsequent visits they had managed to find Ardeth… to bump into him in the most unusual of places and their friendship had grown through shared scrapes and problems and more than their share of fights.

"Rick?"

His thoughts were interrupted by Evy's light nudge to his elbow and her calling his name.

"Sorry honey, I was just--"

"I know, worrying about taking Alex, but I told you, he'll be fine in Cairo with the governess… and I'm sure if the need arose we could persuade you-know-who to help us with that," she said.

"That's not his job, Evy," Rick answered, knowing she was thinking that maybe Ardeth would let them borrow one of the Medjai to act as a bodyguard for their son. She sighed. "But if we see him, I'll ask, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled again. "Darius is thinking of leaving in the next few days and wondered how quickly we could follow."

"Well." He cleared his throat. "I don't see why we couldn't leave pretty much right away. Of course you'd have to get Alex out of school and we'd need to organise someone to look over the house… I assume that Jonathan is coming with us?"

"What?" she appeared to have lost the thread of the conversation. "Oh yes, yes of course he's coming. You don't think I'd risk leaving him here on his own do you?"

"Probably not a good idea," he said, and looking around realised that they were alone in Laski's study. "Where'd he go?"

"To get a map of the dig," she said.

"Evy," he started, "Are you sure this is such a good idea? I mean, Egypt is always trouble of one kind or another for us… and I thought you wanted to start trying to make a little brother or sister for Alex and--"

"Rick, Jonathan needs us to be there," she said. "And besides… the more time I spend out there the more likely it is that my application at the British Museum will be accepted when I next put it in. They can't keep rejecting me forever."

"Yeah." He smiled. "But what's with Jonathan?"

"He's just worrying," she tried.

"Oh no!" he said. "If that's all you're feeding me then this time I'm putting my foot down and we won't go. You're expecting me to go to Egypt, a place that always brings trouble for us, without knowing the full story?"

"He asked me not to say anything and Rick, he's my brother." She squirmed in her seat. Rick pinned her with his fiercest, uncompromising look. "Well all right… Celia told him something about a dig that her fiancé's planned and it's uncomfortably close to Hamunaptra. He's worried that Ardeth would--"

"I knew it," Rick exploded and stood up to start pacing. "We're not even there and already there's trouble!"

"No, Rick no there's not," she came to him and put her arms around him, pressing her head against his chest so that he had no choice but to hold her. He breathed in the scent of her hair and as always it started to soothe him. "The reason we're going this time is the stop the trouble before it starts. If we go, _we_ can keep an eye on them and only call Ardeth if there's something going on that he really needs to know."

"He won't like that," he said, but knew that – like she had him – Evy would probably talk him round… at least she'd try.

* * *

"Lamis, wayward girl, come inside or veil yourself." Her father's voice behind her made her jump.

"Father--" she began.

"No," he said sternly. "Do not "father" me. Just this one time, do as I ask."

With a sigh she took one last look out into the darkened village and then turned and ducked her head as she entered the tent ahead of her father who held it open for her. Inside was warmer, and she shed the outer dark blue robe she had been wearing over her dress that was a lighter blue and hugged her curves and yet flared at the waist to allow her to move freely. It was her favourite, the dress in which she felt most comfortable and she needed that comfort now.

"How many times have I told you," her father snorted, "and come to that has Ardeth told you, that you must keep yourself covered?"

She knew his words were nothing to do with the fact that she was walking around the oasis without even her head covered as the most permissive of the Medjai customs demanded of unmarried women, but that earlier that day a hawk had flown in from Cairo bearing news that Ardeth was in fact still there… but badly hurt; too badly hurt to even stand. She shuddered at the thought. The details were not given, just that he should be collected as soon as possible because he was not entirely safe where he was hidden.

The Honoured Second had ridden out for Cairo with the rest of the First Brothers almost as soon as the news had been received, and since that time her father had been storming around the oasis like a he-goat bitten by a scorpion.

"They are bringing him here, aren't they?" she asked quietly.

Her father crossed the room and took her by the arms, drawing her in to kiss her brow.

"Yes, my daughter," he said. "They are, and it will fall to you to care for him. Sameh knows this is what Ardeth would want."

Her heart knotted. "Ardeth has indicated otherwise," she said mournfully.

She pulled away from her father and almost threw herself at the cushions beside the low fire that burned in the fire pit below the opening in the roof at the centre of the tent.

Her father lowered himself beside her and once more took her hand in his. "Ardeth has indicated only that you and he cannot be as husband and wife, not that you cannot continue your friendship. He considers us as family, Lamis – and if you truly were his sister, in the absence of a wife it would be to you that he would be brought if hurt, you know that."

"Then why do they not _take_ him to his sisters," she picked up a stick in her free and hand and poked at the fire.

"You know the answer to that question daughter," her father answered sternly, but continued to give her the answer anyway. "El Dakhla is too far from il-qaahira for them to hope to return him to his family and for him to still survive. He is badly hurt, my heart."

"You have no idea how hard this is." She sighed and fought back the tears that came to her eyes.

"Ah, but my child," he put his arm around her and drew her head down against his shoulder, "what kind of a father would I be if I did not?"

* * *

Restlessness plagued her. How could she sleep knowing that at any time they could arrive and he would be taken from her life without ever knowing the truth? She pulled open the shutters and let the chill of the night bite at her flesh as though it might rid her of the utterly betrayed feeling that had inhabited her since she had overheard Firyal's conversation with him.

Of course she could do something about all of that. She could sneak down there now, in the dead of night as she had before she'd been discovered and could simply tell him the truth.

_She pushed open the door to the stable, walked inside and then hovered in the doorway, unsure of what she should do next. She wanted to go over to him, but still worried about what Firyal had said about him being an uncompromising warrior. He did not seem that way to her, and yet, that doubt still lingered._

"_What is it you want, girl?" his soft voice sounded out of the darkened room. "Come here, I will not bite."_

_Hesitantly she approached him and then knelt beside his makeshift bed. He looked as though he was still in a good deal of pain, and some of his hair was stuck against beads of perspiration on his tattooed forehead._

"_Firyal… she lied," she said softly and fought with the urge to push back that hair and stroke her fingers through its silky softness one last time before he was whisked away by his men._

"_Lied?" he asked and he turned his eyes upward to find hers above the veil that for once she had fixed into place before coming down._

"_She told you she saved you," she said, feeling more than a little like a startled rabbit under the intensity of his gaze. "It was I that saved you. Found you bleeding in the street and broke off the arrows to get them from your body."_

"_I remember…" his eyes had seemed far away for a moment but then returned to hers, and softened at once. "You were crying because you thought you were hurting me more."_

"_I couldn't do that… I couldn't ever do that," she whispered, finally reaching out to touch his hair and brush it back from his face._

"_Please," he said, reaching up for her hand and pressing it to his cheek beneath his own. "Let me see you."_

_She reached up and unhooked the side of her veil, allowing it to fall away from her face. His hand followed hers, to gently stroke his fingers against her cheek. Quietly he breathed, "So--"_

The sound of hoof beats startled her. She peered into the starlit street to try and see the men. She heard them before she saw them. The voice that reached her was urgent and tense.

Making a sudden urgent decision, that she could not let this happen without her even being there, she grabbed a nearby shawl and threw it around her shoulders before heading for the door. She fought back the little voice of her conscience that told her to turn back as she made her way down the stairs and out through the kitchen into the back of the estate, toward the stable. She had to get close enough to see them, to make sure that he would be safe with the ones that had come for him.

They came into the yard, nine of them, like a huge spreading shadow in the already dark night. It chilled her even more than the night air. She pulled the shawl more tightly around her. Most of the men were tall, powerful looking men. They were all dressed in the same dark robes as the man in the stable and all similarly armed too with scimitars and guns.

Two of them waited by the gate, like guards. Two more stood by the door to the stable while another two took a litter inside. The man whose voice she had heard stood talking to Firyal, who, Melleha noted, was completely covered in her Abbaya. She suddenly felt more than underdressed. She felt quite naked in just her night dress and shawl, and tried to shrink back into the shadows.

She saw the tall man bow lightly to Firyal, who shook her head and said something that she couldn't hear properly in Arabic, and then the stable door opened and the two men that had entered came out carrying the litter they had taken with them, and on it, lay the injured man, interrupting whatever conversation they were having.

The man turned to regard his injured companion, coming to the side of the now stationary litter being held between four of the men, as two others came to help carry the stretcher. She risked creeping closer so that she could hear the conversation – at least that way she _might_ understand what was being said.

"Sameh." The injured Medjai was awake and reached up to weakly grasp his companions hand.

"My chief," the one called Sameh said in response. "Do not speak now. Reserve your strong for rayHiin is much to ninth, Ardeth."

She knew her translation was more than a little wrong, but got the sense of it anyway. They were trying to tell him that it was a long way to their destination and that he should save his strength. She relaxed a little, satisfied that he was in good hands.

"Lamis waits for you," Sameh added and nodded to the four men carrying the litter.

Melleha's heart turned over. There was that name again and this time she had no doubt that this was the name of the man's wife. She watched the way he laid back on the litter and appeared to relax somewhat at the mention of her, and again that image of a woman, wrapped up in his strong and passionate embrace flashed before her eyes.

* * *

Each step they took sent new fire coursing through him. He knew it was going to be a world of hurt he felt before he found comfort in the gentle care that Lamis would give him. He knew that Sameh was right, that he should conserve his strength, but there were things that needed to be done; wheels that needed to be set in motion.

"Wait," he held up a weak hand and commanded his men to stop.

"Something wrong, my chief?" Sameh came to his side at once.

He switched to the language of the deep desert, a mix of Arabic and the remnants of the Ancient language of his people and said quietly, "I want this place watched."

"Ardeth?"

"I am not entirely sure that all is as it seems here," he answered and sighed with the effort of speaking.

"It will be done," Sameh ensured him. "Do you think the woman will betray us?"

Ardeth looked over in the direction of the shrouded woman. She had lied to him, which in itself was a betrayal of sorts, but she had done so to protect the other woman, the one he had seen only briefly in the stable when she ran away. _There_ was the cause for his concern. The other, of whom he knew nothing, and yet who he was sure was truly the one that had rescued him with her cry of alarm, and if not saved him then had at least sent Firyal to do so. He closed his eyes, thinking matters through.

"My chief?"

"Just thinking, Sameh," he said, reassuring his second in command. "I do not believe she would deliberately betray our trust. She claims kinship with the former Horse Master of the sixth tribe, and I am inclined to believe her in that. She is Medjai, and therefore knows the consequences of betrayal."

"Then why?" Sameh was struggling to understand, he could see that.

"Because I do not believe it was she that saved my life," he said. "At least not alone, and I wish to discover the truth of it."

"And what then?" Sameh asked, but movement in the corner of his eye turned Ardeth's head toward the shadows by the gate. It was only because she moved that he spotted her, in spite of the light shade of the thin dress she wore. It left very little to his imagination on such a cold night, even though she had a shawl around her shoulders. He looked up a little more to find her face in the dim starlight.

"And then," he said, not wanting to draw attention to her. Not wanting her to bolt again as she had before. "When the truth is known, I will decide what action, if any, to take."

Their eyes met, light and dark combining. He wished he could see the colour, wanting any clue that might give him a measure of this woman _no_ he corrected himself, _not yet a woman._ She still carried herself like a girl with little experience of life outside the shelter of the walls of her home. He sighed. _Behaved like a girl too_. He frowned at the thought, but could not shake just over twenty seven years of conditioning that a woman should be covered decently.

As if she could read his thoughts she pulled the shawl more tightly around her and looked down as they began to carry him closer, shrinking back further into the shadows so as not to be seen. Still he found her, pressed against the wall, one hand clutching at the rough stone, the other holding the shawl closed against her chest. They were so close he could probably have reached out and touched her and for a moment found himself thankful that the others were too worried about him to notice her. He knew that would worry him later, but for now he was content that she was not discovered… for some reason that would have worried him more.

Still wondering why, he once more looked up to meet her eyes. No words passed between them, but he knew, without a doubt, in the moment he saw her so close that it had been her hand that had removed the crossbow bolts from his body – and her blood that had covered his hand as he had tried to move her when she had fallen across him.

"Shukran," he whispered, and allowed himself to fall back against the litter again to be carried home.


	4. Concequences

**Forbidden Chapter 4 – Consequences **

She paced back and forth over the entire width of the main room of her father's tent. This was ridiculous. What was taking them so long to undress a man?

By the time they had arrived at the Ninth Tribe, Ardeth had developed a fever. It had probably been coming on for the last few days. She needed to be in there with him. Healing his wounds as the women of the Medjai were taught to do, not waiting outside while they attended to making him decent. He needed help. He was seriously ill!

"Lamis, you may come to him now." Sameh briefly laid his hand onto her shoulder. "Do what you can. I pray Allah you can save him."

So did she. The responsibility weighed heavy on her as she followed the de facto new First Medjai into the room at the rear of the tent. Until Ardeth recovered… she shivered… or not… Sameh would lead the twelve tribes.

Trying to appear stronger then she actually felt she said, "Come on, out… all of you. I need room to work."

Beside her she saw Sameh nod to the other men, who filed past them. Sameh was the last to leave.

"If there is anything you need," he said, "Please send for me."

And then she was alone with Ardeth in a way she would never have been allowed if he were well. The thought reminded her of his peril and she quickly gathered all the herbs and things she would need and knelt at his side to begin to give him what aid she could.

They had dressed him only in a wrap that covered him from his waist to the top of his thighs to maintain his decency because of his many wounds. She swallowed hard; even with his wounds he was simply magnificent.

With a huge sigh, she banished such inappropriate thoughts from her mind and reached for the water to begin washing the badness from the wound in his chest. His skin was burning beneath her fingers, and she feared for him more and more as the moments passed and she continued her ministrations.

Working alternately with the cloth and with a knife sterilised in the fire and then in boiling water, she cleaned out the gore. It was something that, as healer for the ninth tribe she had done a thousand times before. Why then was her hand shaking so much as she did so for Ardeth?

He moaned slightly, the first sound he had made since they brought him in and she reached out a gentle hand to sooth him, running her fingers through his hair, matted through sweat.

"Hush, sweet one," she crooned. "You are safe now."

"No," he whispered. "You can't-"

"Ardeth, ssshhh," she laid the back of her hand onto his cheek. He was worse… the ride had been too much for him and the fever had really got a hold.

"Nadia…" He almost cried out the name. "No!"

She looked up at his face then. It was twisted in an emotional agony that she had never seen on his face before through all the years she had known him. It hurt her to see it, but to know that it was because of a woman… who was Nadia?

She couldn't think of that now. She needed for him to get well. Finally she had his wounds cleaned and covered with dressings infused with camphor, cloves and cinnamon oil. She took up a clean cloth and wet it with the water before she laid it across his forehead.

She had to do something about that fever. Almost running into the other room she snatched up a knife and a nearby pomegranate. She began to shave the rind into a nearby dish.

"In Allah's name, Lamis, is he that bad?" Her father started her and almost made her slip with the knife and cut herself.

"His skin burns my fingers, father." She had not realised she was crying until her father came and took the knife from her hand and wrapped his arms around her. "I fear to lose him."

"You will not," he answered. "If anyone can save him, my daughter, you can."

He let her go then and handed the knife back into her still trembling fingers. Just a little more, she thought as she looked into the bottom of the bowl. Normally the rind of the pomegranate was a mild poison, causing sickness and delirium, but ironically in those already sick and fevered, as was Ardeth, an infusion made from that rind would kill the fever.

She poured what remained of the boiling water over the rind and left it to cool a little, wondering how on earth she was going to get him to drink it.

* * *

It was hellish. The heat in Cairo was twice what he remembered and he was starting to feel a little sick as he stood in the brightly painted hotel lobby waiting for his sister and her husband to come down from their room. He didn't much relish the trip to the souk. It would be hot, dusty, crowded, a complete nightmare… and it took him uncomfortably close to the casbah where he spent most of the night pouring out his troubles into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey and to a rather scanty clad belly dancer that was trying to show him another way to forget… and she wasn't talking about the Legion either.

"Uncle Jon!" He jumped as Alex called his name excitedly from half way up the stairs. "This place is _amazing!_"

"Alex!" A stern figure appeared at the top of the stairs behind him. Jonathan saw him roll his eyes.

"Oh it's all right," he told her, beckoning to his nephew. "Of course he's excited… Warm enough for you… partner?"

As Alex reached his side he playfully thumped the boy on the shoulder.

"Even so, Mr Carnahan," the Governess said in a tone that made him shiver. "Mr and Mrs O'Connell told young Alex to stay in their room."

"Yeah while they made mushy faces at each other," Alex moaned, pulling a face at him.

"Young man!" he voice was like a gunshot and Alex grimaced again in Jonathan's direction.

"They _can't_ make me stay here with _her,_ uncle Jon," he whispered.

"Alex, I hope you're behaving yourself." Before he could answer, Evy came down the stairs dressed for a day in the hot Egyptian sun, complete with what looked like the same straw sunhat that she'd worn the day she had met Rick. Of course it wasn't the same hat, that had been destroyed long ago, but it brought back memories and he couldn't help thinking about all that had passed since then.

His sister had got married; she had a young but far too precocious for his age, son… who was just now turning six. They were well off – their house was amazing and he lived a good life with her. Yet here they all were back in Egypt, and that… well that was all down to him.

He could at least save poor Alex from the harridan of a governess that they had been forced to hire at short notice, when the other one had fallen sick the week before they left for Egypt.

"Erm… Evy?" he said quietly, "Could I have a word for a second?"

* * *

The thick, heavy darkness was getting lighter… the weight that was sitting on his chest seemed to have gone and he drifted toward consciousness.

Slowly he became aware of the soft skins beneath him, and the light but warm blankets covering him. There were bandages covering the wounds he had suffered and a sweet but bitter taste in his mouth and there was something in and around his hand.

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked down from the canvass ceiling to the figure whose head was pillowed on the side of his bed, and whose hand it was that was locked around his.

Lamis.

How long had he known the girl? Since he rode with his father as a boy… perhaps even before that. He felt as though he had known her forever. She was his friend in a way that others could not be, because she provided the feminine balance for his masculine, warrior energies. She knew everything about him that he would care for anyone to know – she was always at her father's side and her father was his closest confidant – and now it seemed she had been a part of the chain of people that had saved his life… and the _one_ thing she wanted from him… he sighed… he could not give to her.

She stirred as he sighed, and started to raise her head, not taking her hand from his she rubbed her sleepy eyes with the other.

"Is it so bad that I must be watched every waking moment?" his voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper, but she heard, and her head turned quickly to bring her eyes to meet with his.

"Ardeth!" she gasped.

Even tired, as she clearly was, she was beautiful. He had always thought her beautiful. She had a smooth oval face that managed somehow to convey her deep sense of wisdom without affecting the blush of the innocence of youth, unblemished but for the Medjai sigil of a healer – the tiniest of marks at her left temple, close by her eyebrow, a straight vertical line with a small letter combination that looked like a flat headed serpent with a curve in it's tail. The whole thing was barely a quarter of an inch across and an eighth tall – barely noticeable.

Quickly she slipped her hand from his. It shook, he noticed, as she moved it toward the veil lying across her shoulder.

"Lamis, stop," he breathed on the end of a sigh. She was shaking so much she couldn't find the clasp. "It is all right."

He reached up a hand weakly and grasped the gauzy veil to tug it gently from her unresisting fingers and almost hesitantly brushed the tips of his fingers over her cheek.

"I should go and tell them you are awake," she said.

He shook his head and breathed deeply. "You know as well as I that the moment you tell them they will be here with their questions and demands. At least let me catch my breath first," he asked.

His fingers brushed her cheek again and she closed her eyes and raised her hand to catch his and reluctantly lifted it away. He sighed, and taking back his hand raised it to his aching head to run his fingers through his hair.

"You should drink some water," she said, turning away under his gaze to find a beaker and pour him some.

"How long has it been?" he asked.

"Two weeks. You caught a fever." She moved to kneel closer to his head and supported him while he sipped the water. He was content to acquiesce to her gentle attention.

He had never tasted water that was so refreshing, so sweet. He knew that it was because he had gone so long without consciously tasting it, though he knew she would have been giving him water along with whatever medicine she had made for his fever. He also knew she would not let him take too much and so savoured every drop.

"And that was why you were watching me so closely?" he asked her when she took the beaker.

She nodded slowly but would not meet his eyes. "We were worried that you were not going to wake."

He reached out slowly and turned her eyes up to meet with his, giving her a questioning look.

"I was afraid… that I would lose you," she confessed.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Lamis, I am sorry."

She pulled back, and turned away again to begin fussing with blankets and dressings as she said, "Anyway… your wounds are healing well, and it looks as if the fever is gone-"

"Lamis…" he tried to reach out to her as she stood. Much as he could understand her reaction he didn't want there to be this awkwardness between them. She was his friend, and he needed her to be his friend.

"I have to go and tell them you're awake, Ardeth," she said and moved out of his reach, "you know that."

He fell back against the bed and closed his eyes to shut out the flash of emotion that had answered in him at the look in her eyes. He was being unfair. He couldn't love her like that and he knew there couldn't be anything between them beyond their friendship, he'd told her that. But he knew she loved him… she had said – had asked him to make her his wife… and he could not. He was being very unfair.

* * *

"What _is_ it my flower, why won't you talk to me?" Melleha turned her head away when Firyal spoke to her.

"I think you know," she said surprising even herself at how angry she still was after two weeks. "Who _were_ those people that came? How did you know where to find them?"

"I told you," Firyal said.

"You told me that your father had been a Medjai warrior; that you'd never seen him and yet you can conjure them up to come and collect one of their injured?" She stood and turned to face her maid. "So either you were lying to me then or you are lying to me now. Either way you are _not_ the woman I thought you to be. Maybe _that's_ why you wanted to see me married off to Far-"

Firyal's slap to her face cut off her tirade and had her fall back into her chair.

"Silly girl!" Firyal snapped. "You have no idea what you're dealing with… who these people truly are. You still have some romantic notion of how honourable and just they are… They _kill_ people, Melleha. People like your father who go hunting after Egypt's treasures… but worst of all, they are enemies with the very people that al-Mahdi would have you married to… so he could _not_ stay here."

"So that justifies lying to me, does it… and lying to him?" she played her ace card. "Who is he anyway, to warrant such concern over one man and whether he got killed… seems a bit odd to me."

"I did not-"

"You did, and you are doing so now!" Melleha accused. "You let him think that it was you that healed him… that saved him-"

"I could not let you be involved in this my flower. With you going to Farhas, the less you know of the Medjai and particularly that Medjai the better."

"Who _is_ he Firyal," she pressed.

"No."

"Tell me!"

"I said no and I mean no!" Firyal snatched up Melleha's head covering and started toward her. She snatched it out of the other woman's hands and tossed it back onto the bed where her maid had got it.

"He speaks English you know," she said, trying to goad Firyal into revealing more about this mysterious man that had captivated her imagination and the first stirrings of her young heart.

Firyal stopped and the look of concerned horror on her face made Melleha's blood run cold.

"Did he see you?" she asked.

"What does it matter, he-"

"Did he _see_ you?" she almost shouted.

"No… yes… I don't know, maybe!" Melleha yelled back. "I don't see what it matters or what business it is of yours if he did. Tell me who he is."

"The Medjai are divided into twelve tribes – and he is their leader, their chieftain." Firyal finally snapped and told her the truth. "And you must forget he was ever here. You can have nothing to do with him or the Medjai. That way only leads to trouble and pain."

"But Firyal-"

"No!" Firyal once again picked up the veil and threw it at Melleha. She caught it and stood staring at it and as Firyal continued her tirade she let her mind drift off, no longer listening to the irritating noise, but thinking about her important and powerful desert warrior.

* * *

"Carnahan isn't it?" Jonathan spun round, almost taking Alex's arm out of the socket as the unfamiliar voice behind him said his name. He looked at the ageing man, remembering him at once.

"Yes, that's right," he said as warmly as he could muster. "Francis Gray, right?"

"Yes, old fellow." Gray held out his hand which he took and shook as firmly as he could. "We met at the engagement party."

"May I present my nephew, Alexander O'Connell," he said to cover the disgust that he felt rising at that memory.

"Pleased to meet you sir," Alex said politely. He looked at Jonathan with a puzzled expression and Jonathan shook his head.

"Mister Gray, what a surprise." Evy's arrival saved him from having to say anything more to the man. He saw him frown, no doubt thinking how unladylike it was for Evy to be wandering the markets and the souks.

"No less of a surprise for me, my dear young woman," he said with a tone of disapproval that confirmed Jonathan's supposition. "What are you doing out here?"

"Same as you I expect," she answered, not in the least intimidated. Jonathan smiled, that was his baby sister all right.

"Well that's all settled then," Rick arrived and without even glancing at the man, almost as if he hadn't noticed him, he spoke to Evy. "We can pick them up when we're ready to leave. Alex will have to ride with one of us thought because-"

"Dad!" Alex moaned.

"Don't 'dad' me Alex, those camel can be nasty little critters they… hey, who's this guy?"

"Rick, you remember Francis Gray," Evy said smoothly. "Celia's fiancé."

Jonathan cringed to hear those words spoken together.

"Yeah, right, sorry." he turned to include the man and held out his hand. "Just a little distracted."

Gray took his hand and shook it. "Going out on a dig, O'Connell?" he asked.

"Yeah, nothing too taxing, just assisting in Karnak. Bit more like a vacation than anything," Rick answered, he nodded toward Alex, "Hence the…"

The older man nodded knowingly and looking up at the sun in the sky over head he pulled out both a handkerchief and a pocket watch he mopped his sweaty brow and consulted the watch for the time.

Jonathan half turned away, still fighting with boiling feelings of disgust and jealousy. Maybe he should just call Ardeth right away and send him in like an avenging angel to rid Celia and himself of the disgusting tower of a man.

"Tell you what, O'Connell, why don't you and your family come to dinner. Tell the truth it would do Celia good to have some female company for a while," he nodded toward Evy. "She's seemed a little delicate lately. I think it's this filthy heat."

Jonathan squeaked and tried to gesticulate subtly to Rick that it would be a bad idea.

"We'd like that." Rick said, "Wouldn't we honey?"

"I think it would be wonderful to see Celia again. We used to spend so much time together as children and then lost touch when I came to Egypt with my Mother and Father." She smiled.

"Well that's settled then," Gray smiled a huge patriarch smile. "See you at, um… shall we say seven?"

"Seven it is," Rick smiled and put an arm around Evy's shoulder. He frowned at Jonathan in puzzlement. He groaned and all but threw up his arms, shaking his head.

"Marvellous!" Gray pronounced and started off calling in a terrible Arabic accent to his servants. "Utalu… Yallah!"

* * *

After two weeks of fighting she still had her head but she had never been more afraid that now.

From the window space of the harem she could see the many men patrolling around the walls of Farhas' compound. It was the only evidence that they were at war at all. At first the fighting had been close enough to the compound for her to see the fires, the camps of the bands of warriors that were attacking the Farhaseed… her people.

Ilham sighed and turned away from the window that was bringing in the night air. Too many years looking out of the same window dreaming of freedom dragged the sigh from deep down in her soul.

She walked to the three small beds in the corner of the harem that she had made her own, to look on her children. She loved them all dearly, in spite of their sire. Sitting down beside the bed she ran her fingers gently through the dark curls on the head of her son. At four and a half he was still young enough to be with her… but the time was coming, and it would not be long, when Farhas would demand him to be with the men of his household, with his other sons… and then she would lose him. Farhas would turn him against her.

She pressed her hand to her heart and tried to suppress the sob that was rising. "Be strong Medjai brothers," she whispered. "Finish this for me."

She curled herself around her son and bone weary soon fell into a fitful sleep… a fitful sleep that was rudely interrupted by the sudden screams from the other women and the growl that was accompanied by a pain as she was hauled away from her son by her hair.

She couldn't suppress the cry of pain and reached up a hand to grasp his wrist.

"Please, my lord," she begged. "Not in front of the children!"

He just growled in answer and drew his knife. She cowered as much as his hand in her hair would allow.

"No," she sobbed, hearing the children behind her crying out for her. "Farhas please… I beg of you not here."

"Where are they?" he demanded, at last letting go of her hair, but punching her in the side of the face. She felt to the floor and did not have time to scramble away before he was on her, astride her and pinning her to the hard marble floor. "Tell me!"

"Who?" she wept.

"Don't play _games _with me, woman!" He hit her again and she bit her lip and tongue, drawing blood. "I may lose my son tonight because of the bastard sons of whores that spawned you and your kind!"

Her heart fell through the floor. She knew there would be no way she could calm him… either she would have to tell him the location of the Medjai encampment or she would have to endure whatever punishment he saw fit.

"Where _are_ they?" he roared again, grabbing her by the throat and pressing the knife hard against the side of her neck.

"I cannot," she squeaked, trying the one thing that he might actually believe. "I was barely more than a child myself when I was sent to you. I fear I would get you lost in the desert."

He growled in irritation, but evidently believed her because he let go of her neck and climbed off her, though not before he deliberately nicked the side of her neck.

"Get up," he commanded.

Shakily she got to her feet only to almost walk into the flying back hand slap that almost knocked her back down again.

"By the time I'm finished with you, woman, you will _beg _for me to give you the chance to try and show me," he said. "Get yourself to my chambers. And make sure you are waiting for me on your back, Medjai bitch!"

* * *

Melleha sat with her eyes downcast toward the table top, but watched from the corner of her eyes as Adham rose to greet the woman that walked into the room as though she were the queen of Egypt herself.

She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. Her long, blunt cut black hair hug around her shoulders, a raven frame for a face that though beautiful, was cruel and knowing. It was something in her eyes.

She looked over Adham's shoulder and met Melleha's eyes.

"What is she doing here?" she demanded. "I would have thought that desert animal would have her by now."

"There was trouble," Adham answered, gesturing toward a chair. "With the Medjai. Farhas did not want his bride harmed in the conflict."

"Looks like the Medjai earned you a reprieve, girl," the woman addressed her directly as she sat down at the table. "But I wouldn't get too comfortable just yet. If I have my way, you will be in Fahas' arms before you can snap your fingers."

The thought made Melleha feel quite sick… the stench of his sweat and of his breath against he neck, hot and foul… his hardened fingers against her soft flesh. She shuddered.

"Now you understand," The woman smiled a sarcastic smile, as though she had read Melleha's thoughts.

"Now Meela, you'll frighten the girl," Adham said with a wicked smile. "And you don't want her refusing to go."

"Oh she'll go even if I have to drag her there myself," Meela answered. "I need to get to Hamunaptra, and I need Farhas distracting the Medjai for that."

"Aren't they already distracted?" Adham asked.

"I need to be sure he won't renege on the arrangement and let them through. She," she pointed a Melleha, "is the only guarantee of that."

Melleha gasped. She had always known she was being used, but to be sold like that… to appease one of Adham's many clients in the antiquities market, she felt suddenly nauseous and began shaking, wanting to be anywhere than there.

"Whatever is wrong?" Adham snapped, noticing the way she'd paled and was shaking.

"I feel unwell," she heard herself saying and tears came to her eyes. "May I be excused?"

"Go, as you wish!" he waved her away as the unimportant object that she was, and she barely made it from the room before she began to cry.

* * *

The moment he set eyes on her he almost leaped up and throttled Gray. It was not like Jonathan to be so physical, to respond so positively, but the sight of Celia, pale, tired and looking as though she had spent the afternoon crying moved him to want to act, to almost need to act.

Her hand twitched at her side, the palm facing downwards. It was a clear sign to him to behave, to remain calm and not to show that anything was anything other than he expected it would be.

Evy however was not so restrained and Jonathan cringed.

"Good God woman, you look like death!" She fixed the prospective husband of her once childhood acquaintance with a fierce look that would have stopped most men in their tracks. Not so Francis Gray. "What has he been doing to you?"

"It's this wretched heat," Celia said, sounding as wan as she looked. "I almost can't breathe sometimes in the day, and then at night I freeze. It's a wonder I've not caught my death of consumption or some such other dreadful sickness."

"Never mind, my Lilly," Francis Gray moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulder in a possessive manner. Jonathan saw her cringe and had to catch a hold of his temper once more. "A few nights out in the desert - out in the fresh air, you'll soon be right as rain."

"I rather doubt that," she said, moving away to sit on the couch demurely, "I should be dreadfully worried about getting attacked by some tribe of desert nomads or something."

"Oh I shouldn't worry about that," Jonathan piped up perhaps a little too quickly. He cursed inwardly as Gray turned an almost suspicious look his way.

"What my brother-in-law means," Rick said, "Is that the Tuareg and Bedouin tribes mostly keep themselves to themselves. This time of year they're normally more concerned about their animals."

"There you see, my dear." Gray nodded appreciatively in Rick's direction. "There speaks the voice of experience. Spent a little while in the Legion, hey O'Connell."

"A while," Rick answered and Jonathan could tell that he was more than a little uncomfortable at the admission.

"I'd really rather not talk about such things," Celia said, locking her eyes for a moment with Jonathan's wide eyed stare.

"Well then we shaln't." Evy came to sit beside her and took her hand. Jonathan looked away rather than see how limp it was. "But my dear you must tell me, are you eating properly. You do look dreadfully pale."

"Can hardly keep a thing down," Celia answered.

"I was rather afraid of that." Evy stood up and turned to face Gray with a determined look on her face. "Mister Gray, you really must try and get your hands on some of the mint tea that the desert tribes drink. It's very good for settling the stomach. Otherwise I fear you might just have to abandon your expedition on account of your fiancée's sickness."

"Stuff and nonsense, my good woman," Gray came right back, still not cowed by Evy's attitude. "Nothing a few more days getting used to the place and some fresh desert air won't solve."

"Francis please," Celia said, "don't let's argue. I really don't think the O'Connells came here to be brow beaten into agreeing with your opinion of everything and I do wish you'd listen sometimes to other people. The O'Connells have so much more experience out in the field than we do. We should value their opinion, not poo poo it."

"Of course my dear," Gray agreed, but not before Jonathan saw the flash of annoyance that passed across his eyes at being spoken to in such a manner Celia. "Let's just try to enjoy the evening. Shall we?"

He swept his arms in the direction of the dining room and took Celia's hand to help her to rise before leading the others in. Jonathan could only walk at the back of the small group, watching in growing hatred as Celia was paraded by Gray as little more than his possession.

As he watched she turned her head to find his eyes. It was a despairing look she gave him; a request for salvation and inside him the smouldering embers found that spark that ignited them into flame. First thing in the morning, he vowed, he would find one of the Medjai if it killed him, and have Gray dealt with once and for all.

_

* * *

_

_The light scratching at her window started her toward waking, and then the cold night breeze breathed a light caress over her skin. A warm hand over her mouth startled her awake._

"_Be still, you are quite safe." The voice was smooth and rich, the accent heavy. "Do you understand me?"_

_He eased up the pressure but did not remove his hand, not until she nodded did he move his hand away and allow her to sit up. She pulled the comforter with her._

"_Forgive my intrusion," he said. "I had to see you."_

"_Are you well now?" she asked and boldly reached out a hand toward his chest, where he had been injured when he left two weeks ago._

_He caught her hand and caressed it briefly before he brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. She blushed and tried to pull away the hand, but he held it fast, and pressed it against his chest, against the beat of his heart._

"_Thanks to you," he answered at last, trapping her hand under his and moving closer. "This heart still beats. Tell me your name?"_

_He reached out and caressed her face, she moaned at the exotic and forbidden touch and then whispered her own name._

"_Melleha," he echoed. "Mellehai, my Melleha…"_

"_Oh God, please…" she breathed._

"_What?" he murmured. He moved a little more and slipped his arm behind her, to pull her against him, into his arms. The handles of his blades pressed against her breasts. "Tell me what it is you want?"_

"_You…" she whispered, trembling. "To be with you. Please take me away from here. He means to marry me away to-"_

"_Hush, my heart…" he stroked her hair and wiped away tears she didn't even know were falling. He crooked his finger beneath her chin to raise her face still further until she was lost in his deep brown eyes. "You're safe, I promise you."_

_She closed her eyes as his lips pressed to hers and felt a thrill in her heart at the kiss._

She came awake with a start. It was dark and she was still dressed. The shutters were firmly closed. Disappointed, she touched her fingers to her lips. She had never been kissed, never felt the press or another's lips to hers… she wondered what it might be like, were he to kiss her as he had done in her dream.

It was a cold night, colder than usual… or perhaps that was just her perception. The sky was clear, the stars bright, and Ardeth was well and truly healing from his injuries and his fever was gone. She should be happy that she had been the one to accomplish that. She had saved him.

She sighed and blinked back tears. Saved him only to say goodbye to him again.

* * *

She couldn't put her finger on exactly when it was that she realised she felt more for him that just friendship, but things had been so difficult for her since then.

Always when he visited her father privately, he would laugh with her… tease… and sometimes even hold her if she were low, or tired. Knowing that he did so only out of friendship hurt, but still she wouldn't have made him stop, because at least it was something.

But then it wasn't enough. It didn't soothe the ache in her heart that often woke her at night. Or the dreams of much more intimate moments, that she could only imagine, but often did…

"No," she whispered. She had to stop. She was going to drive herself crazy with it. She had no choice but to accept his reasons, his explanations and his wishes. To do otherwise would only cause trouble between then and would mean she would be without even his friendship. She couldn't bear that…

Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she remembered the time she almost had. When she had made such a fool of herself and tried to throw herself at him…

"_You are avoiding me, Ardeth," He looked up and her and quickly came down the side of the dune to meet her and draw her into the privacy in the shadow of the rear of the tents. She thrilled at his touch… that he would want to be in private with her and reached up to draw down her veil. Then she saw the look in his eyes and almost turned right that moment and fled back to the village. This was not HER Ardeth. This was the Medjai Chieftain, the warrior pledged to keep his people safe._

"_Lamis, what do you think you are doing?" he said, his voice a low and urgent whisper. "You should not come out here unescorted, it is not safe."_

"_Well then all will be well, because I am not unescorted." She pouted at him. They were alone and he did not need to keep up the hardened edge with her. They were friends. He could be open with her… Her heart fell, unless there was something wrong. "Come back with me Ardeth – they miss you."_

"_You miss me," he said softly, and his expression softened. A look almost of regret came into his eyes and she knew what he would say next and did not want to hear it. "Lamis, it is for your own good."_

_Chilled, in spite of the gentle way he was rejecting her she wrapped her arms around herself, fighting to keep the tears from her eyes, but knowing that he would see the trembling of her lips. He turned his head onto the side slightly and reached out to caress her arms, as he often did when he knew she was upset._

"_I am sorry, truly, but we have been through this. There can be nothing beyond the friendship that we have and I need you to understand that."_

"_I saw you with the child tonight," she said, moving away from his light caress and turning to face him._

"_Most of the tribe saw me," he answered. "Lamis, stop this, please."_

"_Ardeth…" She hadn't meant to press him, but truly, seeing him with her new born nephew had completely stolen what little restraint she had remaining. She had seen the spark almost of pride and perhaps love in his eyes, that his friends only son had born a child… she wanted to be the one to give him that… for himself._

"_No!" he said forcefully. He took a step forward, but startled she backed away. The hem of her dress caught around her boot as the sand shifted beneath her feet, making the ground uneven. But for his fast reflexes she would have fallen, and for a moment she resisted his touch, but then she remembered the hundred or so times he had saved her and never even known about it… Kept her sane with the way he treated her as an equal and not just a woman, as too many of the other men did… sat with her through the night her mother had passed away… prayed with her when her father had been sorely hurt or her brother wounded in battle… in a sudden rush of needful affection she threw herself forward against his chest and pressed her cheek against the heartbeat she could feel._

"_Ardeth, please-" _

"_Listen to me," he tried to prise her away from him, but she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Let go. Stop this!"_

"_I love you!" The words escaped her before she could stop them and she started to shake. This was not something that was done… it was not the way to go about these things, feeling everything slipping away from her, she started to cry._

_Crying was not something that she usually did… she saw it as weakness, but she couldn't help herself. The thought of having ruined everything with Ardeth brought them from her as surely as if she had just been told of his death._

_He gently pulled her back to arm's length and cupped her chin in his hand to bring her eyes up to meet his. "And I you, as a friend, a sister, but 'we' cannot be."_

"_But why?" her voice wavered on the edge of fresh tears._

_Ardeth sighed. "Because I was born on a twelfth year."_

"_Wh… what?" she stuttered, shocked._

"_The woman I am to marry cannot be from any of the twelve tribes. She will not be Medjai."_

"_Ardeth…" she broke down then. She had never before imagined that Medjai Law would be the thing that kept them apart. She sobbed his name and after a while he drew her closer and enfolded her in his arms._

"_Hush, Lamis," he soothed gently, "It is all right. You will always be in my heart."_

"_But I don't want to be your little sister…" she wept and once against pressed him when she should have left well alone. "You could take a second wife, Ardeth please."_

_He laid his cheek on the top of her head and, rocked her from side to side, "Lamis, you know that's not who I am. You know me better than any woman because you are your father's daughter. You know that when I marry, it will be for love."_

"_But how will you find that love, if with a woman you have never met before – never even seen?" She asked, still crying hard into the front of his robe._

"_I do not know," he sighed and eased her out of his arms once more. Then more firmly he said, "No more tears. You must forget about me and look to your future with a husband that loves you and will always be there for you."_

_She tried to stop crying then, but so desperately wanted to hold on to the moment as he almost tenderly brushed away the teardrops from her cheeks. Foolishly she looked up into his eyes, and on reflection of that tenderness she asked, "Will you at least say goodbye with a kiss?"_

_He shook his head and it broke her already aching heart in two, but his next words and actions threw the two halves to opposite sides of the oasis._

"_It would not be right or proper," he said and picked up the veil, to fix it back into place before he continued, "And if you cannot accept me as your brother then I must behave as any other warrior and expect that you keep yourself covered in future. Go back to the fire Lamis."_

_He turned his face away, and in the wake of that, utterly crushed she couldn't contain the sob that burst from her as she turned and fled._

It was a stupid thing to have done. She knew that now and her face was wet with embarrassed tears as the memory returned. She wished she could take it all back… continue as before instead of laying open her heart to him when both now knew he could not give her what she could not give up, no matter how hard she tried.

She loved him, more than life… and she didn't think anything would ever be able to change that, and so she had to fight with herself to find a way that she could live with it.

* * *

Time was short. The others had gone to look at a number of small artefacts that had been found at Gray's dig site, leaving Celia and Jonathan mere moments alone.

It was awkward, it felt really awkward.

"How've you been… really?" Jonathan broke the silence at last.

"Jonathan," she breathed, "I hate this… I hate being here with him."

"Are you really so sick?" he asked, crossing the room to crouch in front of her. When she didn't answer he continued, "Celia?"

She shook her head. "I'd hoped it would keep him away from me."

He took her hand when she reached out to him and brought her hand to his lips to kiss her fingers. She sighed his name, almost tearfully and freeing her hand from his, she caressed the side of his face.

"He's not…" Jonathan hesitated. He hated the thought of Gray and his filthy sweaty hands on Celia, "He's not hurt you, has he? Touched you?"

"No," she whispered. "But I keep my door locked at night. I don't trust him. The way he looks at me, now that he has me away from my father."

"Sweetheart, listen to me." Jonathan moved up to the couch beside her, taking a risk, because the others could return at any moment. He put an arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. "I can help you, but the friend I need to get in touch with… I've not been able to yet. I need you to just hang in there for me."

"I'll try," she whispered.

"But if he touches you, Celia… if he even tries-"

"Don't." she breathed. "I don't want to even think that he might. I fear it so much."

He turned his head and kissed her lightly on the temple. She ran her fingers up his arm, as though she was trying to be sure that he was real. Taking a greater risk he gently turned her face toward him and lightly kissed her lips, he almost lost himself in the sensation of his lips caressing hers.

She moaned softly and almost leaned in to him before she snatched herself away from him. "Please don't…"

"Celia, I-"

"And please don't say you're sorry." She touched his lips with her fingers before she stood and moved away, to stand beside the ornamental fireplace.

"How long before you leave?" he asked after several more moments of awkward silence. "For Luxor, I mean. You _are_ starting out of Luxor?"

She shook her head again. "He means to go from here… by boat down the Nile to Thebes and then across he desert to Esna. He says it will take him the week to get equipped. What about you?"

"By train," he said, hearing the others return. "To Luxor, and then under our own steam to Karnak."

"I see…" she started, but he waved her to silence.

"Tell me quickly," he said, "Are you able to get away?"

"I don't know, why?"

"I'd like to see you."

"Jonathan," she looked at him with the most painful expression on her face. Need and fear combined. "I want to but-"

"We're at the Excelsior Hotel," he told her. "Leave me a message if you can."

* * *

They took her back as the sun started rising over the desert. Literally took her back, because she could not walk, and tossed her through the door to the harem. He had never before used her as brutally as he had the night before. She was cut, and bruised and ached in places that she had never before felt such pain. Barely conscious she cried out hoarsely as she fell to the cold marble floor.

"Merciful Allah," the voice that gasped in shock was far away. "Sumayyah, take her children out of here. They must not see their mother this way."

"Zahra?" she murmured through her swollen lips.

"Hush, Ilham," the voice said. "I will take care of you."

She couldn't help herself, she began to cry as the older woman, with the help of another picked her up and carried her to one of the beds at the rear of the harem and began to undress her. Each time they gasped, she sobbed a little more. Ashamed of what they must be seeing… the bruises, the bites and cuts.

Zahra cursed softly, and smoothed back her hair as she sent the other woman for warm water and cloths. "What did he do to you?"

Ilham forced her red and swollen eyes, both from crying and the many blows he had given her, to open and saw the First Wife nod to the other woman that had brought the things she would need, and then wave her hand to send her away.

"I don't… remember… most of it," she sobbed, her answer broken with tears and pain. "Just… it hurts…"

She winced as Zahra gently dabbed at the cuts on her face, and her split lip with a wet cloth, and closed her eyes again, not wanting to see the stain of her blood.

Zahra had seen the results of his temper before, but never like this, never so vicious.

As gently as she could, she cleaned the cuts to her face, and the bites to her neck and breasts. She hesitated at the bruises she could already see forming on the girl's sides and carefully rolled her onto the less injured side, to view the mass of purple welts on her back.

He had beaten her, Allah only knew with what, and when. And if he had done that…

"Ilham, I do not wish to ask you this, but I must know," She hesitated, gently laying her back again. "Did he?"

Ilham's moan, primal and lost stopped the question that had been poised on her lips. The scratches she saw on the insides of her thighs when she moved to bathe the injured woman's sex answered the question.


	5. Discovery

Forbidden Chapter 5 – Discovery 

"I didn't think the desert could be so beautiful." Jonathan looked over a Celia as she stood with him on the edge of the oasis looking out at the tan sea that stretched as far as the horizon. "So clean and peaceful…"

"Don't you believe it," Rick came up behind the two of them, "Apparently there's some kind of war going on out there among the desert tribes."

"What?" Jonathan turned a full circle to keep his brother-in-law in sight. "What are you talking about?"

"Yup." Rick picked up the blanket that he and Evy had been lounging on for the afternoon watching as Alex played in the water. "That caravan that stopped here a while back… came right through the middle of it."

Rick looked up and glanced at the look on the face of Jonathan's companion.

"Evy and I are heading back now. I know you and Evy wanted to show Celia the sunset Jonathan, but it might be an idea not to be here after dark."

"Richard's probably right, Jonathan," Celia put a hand onto Jonathan's arm. He gave her a look of terrible regret; he didn't want the day to come to an end. It had been a glorious day and it had been so good to be able to see Celia smiling again – genuinely smiling, not forced as she had been at the dinner party almost a week before.

"If you're sure," he said.

"Catch us up, huh?" Rick seemed to sense the mood and made himself scarce.

"Evelyn's very lucky," Celia sighed as she and Jonathan watched the as O'Connells began to make their way back toward the nearby city of Cairo. "He's a good man."

"Love match," he answered without thinking about what he was saying. When he saw the look his words kindled on her face he gently took her hands and apologised softly. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

She laid her head against his chest but didn't answer, so he circled his arms around her to hold her to him tenderly. He sighed… he'd never felt this before… the depth of feeling that made even the desire he felt for her pale. His reputation as a ladies man well deserved, but as a lover – a partner and friend…

"This week has been so wonderful," Celia murmured after a moment, dragging him away from his thoughts.

"I'm only sorry we've had so little time alone," he answered, but stopped when she shook her head.

"No," she said and looked up at him. "If we had, I don't know what I should have done – how I should have been able to go back to Francis."

"Celia…" he sighed, looking into her eyes. "I _will_ talk to that friend of mine, I promise. I'll find a way to get you out of this."

"I know you will," she reached up a hand to caress his cheek and breathed, "My Jonathan."

His heart thrilled little skipping beats that rattled round his body as she named him hers. He bent his head down to capture her lips. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed against him as she joined him in the kiss, her lips softening and opening to the caress of his tongue.

"If you keep doing that, I don't know how I shall survive without you," she whispered as their lips parted.

"You will," he told her. "Because then we can be together."

* * *

"Ardeth, in Allah's name what on earth are you doing?" Lamis almost dropped the bowl of dates she was carrying as she returned to the tent to find Ardeth out of bed. He was leaning heavily against the table she had made them move into the bedroom where he was healing.

"I cannot continue to lie still," he gasped, turning his head to look at her, dressed only in his pants.

"That you cannot stand alone tells me that is _exactly_ what you can do," she retorted, setting down the bowl and coming at once to his side to slip her arm around his waist and lead him back towards the low bed.

As they moved, as his full weight rested on her shoulders, she tried not to let herself feel the touch of his hand around her arm, tried so hard to shut it out that she did not pay attention to her footing and tripped on a discarded blanket. Strong, but still unable to hold up his entire weight Lamis fell, landing half beneath him on the cushioned bed.

Even injured he had tried to support her, and held her now, with his arms around her, the flat of his hand between her shoulders, his fingers just brushing against the back of her neck. His other hand rested on her waist, beside her suddenly trembling stomach. One of her legs was trapped between his, their thighs pressed together, and her arms that had already been supporting him were still tightly wound around him.

He sighed, a hot breath against her cheek where the veil she had been wearing had torn aside in the sudden fall and a flush of heat went through her body as her stomach contracted. It was a feeling she would not forget in a very long time, she thought.

She daren't open her eyes to look at him. Not until he suddenly winced and his head fell against her shoulder.

"Ardeth?" He fingers found their way into his hair to try and ease his head up so she might get him to tell her what was wrong.

"Nothing," he gasped breathlessly.

"It is not nothing has a Medjai warrior all but crying in pain," she told him, angry and afraid at the same time as she wriggled out from beneath him. "Lie back. Let me see. Where is the pain?"

She turned him onto his back and pushed him down against the bed, reaching for the ties on his pants so that she could get at the place, low on the side of his stomach, where one of the injuries had been, which he had almost reflexively covered with his hand.

"Just a cramp, Lamis, leave be," he insisted, taking a surprisingly strong hold of her wrist as she continued to unfasten his clothes.

"Don't be such an idiot, Ardeth!" she snapped and glared at him until he let go of her wrist and moving her hands aside, unfastened the ties, pushed the pants down slightly – though not too much, she noticed – took her hand in his and pressed the tips of her fingers against the tight spot in his side where the muscle had cramped. It was a tight knot beneath her touch, but there was no obvious injury, or bruising around the site. She breathed out with relief, and then sat back on her heels.

"You worried me," she told him, and twisted her hand a little to free it from his grasp, suddenly embarrassed by all that had happened in the last few minutes.

"I told you it was just cramp," he said.

"Oh so you're a healer now?" she snapped, then closed her eyes as his fingers brushed back her hair enough to run the tips of his fingers over her healers mark.

"No," he said softly.

She swallowed hard, close again to the tears she hated; that he seemed to be able, so easily to draw from her.

"You need to rest, Ardeth," she said huskily.

"I cannot," he answered, letting his hand fall away from her face. "Sameh is coming to speak with me. Please, Lamis, help me to dress so that I might meet my Second on my feet."

"No," she answered with a sigh, and opened her eyes into his hurt expression of frustration. "But I will help you so that you might meet him sitting in that chair."

She pointed out into the main room to a small cushioned wooden chair nearby the hearth. He nodded his agreement to her compromise.

He breathed out a long slow sigh as he watched her walk into the main room of the tent to retrieve a folded set of robes, then shook his head. She might have been his… He stopped himself with another sigh, and looking away retied his pants and brought himself to his knees.

When next he raised his head he saw that she had stopped and was looking at him with an expression almost daring him to try and get up without her help. He waited.

"Good thing you know what's good for you, Ardeth Bay," she said as she reached his side. He smiled; this was his Lamis back again… almost.

He noticed her hands still shook a little as she took his shirt and slipped it over his head and lifted his arm to keep him from straining his still delicate shoulder.

"I would not dare cross you, my precious friend," he answered, teasing, and was surprised – no shocked, when she blushed.

"Lean on my shoulders as you rise," she said, and helped to steady him as he got to his feet, before she led him out into the main room where she could continue to dress him, saying nothing at all about the blush or his words that had been the reason for it.

As he slipped his arms into the soft, sleeveless, inner robe and she pulled it, on he tried several times to meet her eyes, but she would not, and slapped him lightly on the arm, chastising him for wriggling. To anyone watching that had known these two for many years and had seen their friendship before, everything would have seemed perfectly normal, but to him it did not and the answer was obvious. She was still hurt over his refusal of her affection. He sighed.

"What is wrong?" she asked, stopping in the middle of straightening the heavy outer robe, that he had not realised before was quite so weighty.

Now was not the time to press the matter. He shook his head. "Nothing, Lamis, you are too concerned if you are worrying over every little sigh I make."

She stopped then and reached up to momentarily cup the side of his face in her hand.

"You are my _anisah,_" she said, naming him a close and intimate friend. "How can I not worry about you?"

Before he could answer she picked up the final layer of robes and draped them over the others, arranging them neatly as she crossed them at his waist. Picking up his sash that would hold them all closed she hesitated, and just as he would have spoken smoothed a section between her thumbs, draped as it was over her hands. She pressed the fabric in quick succession against her stomach, and her heart, before kissing the fabric lightly and pressing it to her forehead. Then she wound it into place around his middle to hold his robes closed with the flat knot that was unique to the twelve tribes of the Medjai.

"Lamis…" he started and reached for her, but she darted away, like a small bird.

"Oh, I almost forgot…" she came back with the leather fastener for the fabric draped about his neck, that he had given to Firyal to prove his identity to the curator of the museum. She fastened it into place and then stood on tiptoes to smooth the fabric over his shoulders. "There now, you are all neat and tidy."

He caught her elbows before she could move away and, before he could think better of it himself, pressed a light kiss to her cheek.

"Thank you, habibti," he said quietly.

"Sameh will be here soon," she whispered, moving back a little. "I need to veil, myself."

Even so her fingers lingered in his as she walked to her bed chamber to find a fresh veil to replace the one that had torn when they fell together. He sighed and moved to sit in the chair even as she called through from the other room for him to do so.

* * *

Some short while later, Sameh coughed politely to signal his arrival outside.

"You sent for me, Ardeth," he said as he entered, and with a nod toward the now demurely veiled woman at his side added. "It is good to see you so well."

"My friend has cared for me well," he said in answer, gesturing to a nearby cushion. Lamis rose to pour the men refreshments. It was all very customary – all very domestic.

"Please excuse me," Lamis craved when she had given them the cups. Without waiting for his answer, she left the tent.

"Sameh, at the house where I was first taken when I was hurt," Ardeth tried to keep his mind on the reason for asking his Second to visit with him, "There was a woman."

"The Medjai's daughter," Sameh confirmed that he was following. "The one that saved you."

"Ah but there is the question," he said. "The Medjai woman _said_ she was the one, but I do not believe her words to be the absolute truth."

"You said as much when you ordered the house watched."

"And what have you discovered?" he asked.

"Other that a woman visitor and her servants, the house remains as it was when we left it." Sameh shrugged, "None visit and none leave."

"Then it is time there was a visitor," Ardeth said. "I want you to go and question the woman, her name is Firyal. And Sameh…"

The other Medjai, having been given his orders by his First Medjai had started to rise. He stopped as Ardeth spoke.

"My Lord?"

"I want the truth this time, make sure you get it." He fixed the man with a serious expression that told of his distaste at having already been lied to.

* * *

"You've seen her home safely then?" Rick's voice, coming as it did seemingly out of nowhere, startled him.

"Rick!" he squeaked.

"Expecting someone else?" his brother-in-law took his arm and steered him away from the bar and out through the rear door of the hotel into the garden.

"No," Jonathan answered somewhat guiltily. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Rick answered. "Just thought that you and I should have a little talk."

"Oh really," Jonathan looked back over his shoulder toward the bar, receding from sight as Rick hurried him further into the depths of the well tended garden. He gave an almost nervous little laugh. "How nice."

Abruptly Rick stopped walking and snapped, "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" he said with exaggerated innocence.

"Oh come on, Jonathan, just what _time_ yesterday do you think it was that I was born?" Rick raised his eyebrows. "You and Celia?"

"Oh, you know," he reached out to playfully tap the side of his brother-in-law's arm. "Just keep company with an old childhood chum."

"No," Rick said, disbelieving.

"No?" he stammered.

"Listen, Jonathan, I know you like to play around a little but--"

"It isn't _like _that, Rick," he protested.

"Supposing you tell me what it _is_ like," Rick demanded.

"Well it's like this see," Jonathan began, leaving out all the bits about the way he felt for Celia. "Celia is afraid that her fiancé might be up to no good and when she told me that I thought that Ardeth should know about it. Until then we'll keep an eye on her and--"

"We? What we?" Rick paced away a couple of steps.

"Well, you know… Evy though that since we were here anyway we might--"

"Evy knew about this?" Rick took him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him up to the tips of his toes.

"Erm… yes," he said sheepishly.

"And she didn't tell me?"

"I asked her not to," Jonathan squeaked. "Please Rick,"

"No!"

"At least put me down, hmm?"

"We are not getting involved in this, Jonathan," he said and set Jonathan back on his feet.

"But it's just a spot of babysitting," he protested.

"And if you tell me no harm ever came from a spot of babysitting I'm going to punch you on the nose." Rick said in a singsong voice and gave him a humourless smile.

* * *

She gasped in shock as the arms came around her, one around her waist and one pressing a hand against her mouth, to stop her from crying out.

"I will release you," the soft voice in Arabic sounded directly into her ear. "If you make a sound you know that I will not spare you."

She nodded her understanding. The hand was taken away and she was released. She turned slowly to face the imposing figure of the Medjai warrior she had seen in the street outside the rear of the house, who had led the men that came to take back their First Medjai.

"Is everything well with you?" she asked faintly, uneasy.

"All is well," he answered. "I am come from the First Medjai. He bid me seek you out."

She swallowed hard. What could he possibly want with her? Had she not discharged whatever duty she might have still have to the Medjai in returning him to them?

"What… does he want?" she asked slowly.

"To know why you lied," the man said seriously. She sighed and looked away. "Then you did lie?"

"You don't understand," she held up her hand as his fingers had instinctively twitched toward the small blade in his sash. He stopped, "I was protecting my charge."

"Sit," he instructed, indicating the small bed that graced the room, and pulling up the chair beside it. "And begin at the beginning. And be warned…"

She looked up at the stern expression on his face.

"Do not think to lie again."

She nodded and took her place on the bed, sitting, and feeling uncomfortable to be in the presence of a man and be so exposed… since she had been preparing to sleep she was not wearing her veil. Then she began her tale of how she had found that the woman for whom she acted as guide and lady's maid was harbouring the badly injured Medjai chieftain.

"And who is this woman?" he asked when she had finished speaking.

Much later, when the man had gone, she lay staring at the ceiling – unable to sleep. Even with the warning about not lying to him, she had not meant to speak so freely of Melleha, even down to worrying openly about her and the treatment she received at the hands of Adham and about the arrangement he had made with Farhas.

She had simply been overawed by his masculinity. His authority that had no need for sticks to beat her, or harsh words to get her to comply… and that, she thought, was the difference between the Medjai and the others in the desert, though unlike Melleha, she was not under any kind of illusion that the Medjai were not capable of being the most uncompromising warriors and would kill if the need arose.

She sighed and turned over in her bed, coming back to the one thing that still bothered her… the First Medjai had wanted to know about Melleha. Not quite a mere woman, granted… one that had saved his life… but if Melleha ever found out that he had – it would only be more fuel for her fantasies.

What did he plan? And what would he do when he found out that she was promised to the Medjai's enemies.

* * *

Celia sighed and wiped away the tears that had spilled over her face. Three days trapped on the steamer with Francis had almost completely wiped away the wonderful week she had spent with the O'Connell family – she sighed again – and with Jonathan.

At first she had laughed at the cruel irony of the situation. For her to have found the man she fell in love with on the day of her engagement, it was just the kind of joke fate usually played on her.

Only now she wasn't laughing. Now… miles away from home and the protection of her family, in a country where the language was alien; the temperatures stifling by day and bone numbingly cold when the sun finally set; where one couldn't trust the water to be clean; the bed to be safe for fear of bugs and snakes…

Tears came to her eyes again… and she hated the man that had brought her here with a passion that could not be matched – except perhaps by her longing to be held once more in the arms of the man she had left behind in Cairo.

"Oh do stop snivelling woman!" Francis spurred his camel forward and started to ride next to her. "Anyone would think I was taking you to be sold into slavery or something, not to witness your future husband makes the fortune that will support you through the rest of our life together… and our children eh?"

He reached out and squeezed her thigh and there was not a thing she could do about it, nor the way his fingers idly caressed her. She shuddered at what might happen come nightfall, when they would be quite alone, except for the diggers they had hired, and the men that would guard the camp… and she didn't think that any of them would champion her against her future husband.

"I'm sorry Francis," she said quietly, desperately trying to think of an excuse and something that would keep him from coming near her. "I don't know what's come over me. I think perhaps my courses must have come early."

She turned her head away to hide the wry smile that found its way onto her face when he quickly snatched his hand away from her. As soon as the smile had come, it faded, for as she turned her head she caught a flash of darkness against the bright afternoon sky. She looked up on the ridge to the side to see a group of dark clad riders and she could almost feel their eyes glaring down at she small party of which she was a part. She shuddered. She doubted very much the thought of her menstrual blood would put _them_ off from anything they might want to do to her.

* * *

She hovered. He could feel her eyes on his back as he walked through the simple routine meant to begin to strengthen his muscles. She had argued with him, citing the fall of the day before as proof that he was not yet ready to be on his feet again… but once again she had helped to dress him for the day when he had promised her that he would stop at once if his muscles cramped as they had before.

He breathed in slowly as he moved the blade around in a slow circle, feeling the slight twinge in his chest, but expecting it as his muscles pulled against the weight of the scimitar he moved around. He turned and nodded to her and – thankfully, since there were others also watching – she went inside, leaving him to his practise.

Again and again he moved through the whole routine until he felt the sweat trickle down from his forehead and knew he should stop. And then he pushed himself through it again, growling when the twinges became a burning of protest. He did not have time for leisure. He had to reassert himself and more than anything, he needed to put a halt to the open conflict between the Medjai and the Farhaseed.

He understood why it had begun – Sameh believed him a prisoner, believed that Farhas had him, and was probably torturing him to death. That was likely… if ever they came face to face one of the two of them would not survive the encounter.

"My Lord," one of the tribe's sentries came quickly to his side, interrupting his routine. "Your Second is returning."

"Thank you, Asim," he said breathlessly and finally sheathed his blade, returning to the tent where Lamis was already waiting with a beaker of water.

"You see, I told you--"

"Lamis, please…" he took the water and squeezed her shoulder. "You think I do not heed your counsel. Not so, but now please understand mine. The Medjai cannot afford this war with the Farhaseed and I cannot stop it from the side of my bed."

"And you will not stop it if you fall in battle because you are too weak and sick to keep your feet under you either, Ardeth." She pressed a hand to his chest. He knew she would feel his heart pounding as she did.

"I know," he said quietly and for a moment covered her hand with his and fixed her with a sincere and warm expression. "And I promise you that I will not fall."

Sameh appeared in the open doorway and before Ardeth could do or say anything Lamis pulled her hand from under his and walked toward him.

"Go in, Sameh," she said brusquely. "Perhaps you can persuade him to rest since I cannot."

His Second, a good friend, chuckled as she walked briskly across the settlement.

"Disobeying the orders of your healer again, Ardeth?" he said, watching her walk away and then with another amused chuckle he turned back to Ardeth. "She needs to be tamed."

"No," he answered. "She needs to be heard."

"Ardeth?" Sameh frowned, but Ardeth shook his head and gestured toward where they might sit.

"Tell me," he commanded.

"Third, fifth and tenth are under coming under repeated raids. They are for the moment holding their own, with few casualties." He sighed. "My friend, I am sorry – truly…"

Ardeth waved him to silence. "Begin to pull the men away from the Farhaseed borders, perhaps the raids will stop. What of the First?"

"No word of trouble. Things are tense, but calm."

"Word from Farhas?" Ardeth asked.

He sighed in relief when Sameh shook his head. He feared that Farhas would have reacted by punishing the First tribe and sending her back injured – or worse. He sighed again.

"Nothing," the other warrior said, underlining the report.

"Good. As I said, pull the men away from the borders, and instruct the other tribes only to defend, not to attack – and to tend to the wounded from both sides if there are injuries and send the Farhaseed back to their own camp once they are out of danger of death."

"Ardeth?"

"Do this thing I ask, Sameh. I need to end this conflict and find who was truly behind the attack that sparked it." He passed a tired hand over his face. Leaving to find the truth would also help his dear friend to find her equilibrium again.

"And what of the other matter?" he asked after a moment.

"You were correct," Sameh said. "But she lied because she did not wish for the woman whom she serves to become involved. She feared she would become caught in our conflict if she did, as apparently she is promised to Farhas and none too willingly."

Ardeth could never have anticipated what a strong reaction he would have to that piece of news. He felt as though everything he was – everything inside him exploded in anger.

"No!" he roared, and leaped to his feet. "I will not have the woman that saved me from death given to that filthy… animal… son-of-a-whore!"

_He ran all the way from the middle of the Oasis settlement to the dune where he knew he would find her. He heard her sobbing even before he was within arms reach and froze._

"_Is it true?" he asked her, incredulous._

_She turned. She was gripping the front of her robes and her knuckles were white, her veil, torn, hung lopsided across one side of her barely developed body. Her face was wet with tears._

"_Ardeth!" she sobbed his name and he came to her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tightly…_

Sameh too rose quickly, fixing Ardeth with a confused and concerned expression. "Ardeth?" he placed an uncertain hand on Ardeth's arm.

Ardeth jerked away as if the touch had scalded him, and turned a grim expression on his second in command.

"Shall I call for Lamis?" Sameh asked.

"I am all right," Ardeth answered, catching his temper and pushing it back deep down. He took several deep breaths. "Did the horse-master's daughter say when this union was to take place?"

Sameh shook his head, still looking somewhat concerned for Ardeth until he put a hand onto his shoulder.

"The Medjai repay their debts. It is another facet of our duty, Sameh," he said more calmly. "If I were to do nothing to prevent this I would be failing in that duty."

"I thought you wanted to end the war… not begin it anew," his second in command said, equally softly. "If you steal his bride--"

Ardeth shook his head, cutting him off. "Farhas cares nothing for the women given to him in marriage and will already have received the dowry – it is his way, and that is all he cares about."

"And what will you do with her once you have freed her?" Sameh pressed.

Ardeth raised an eyebrow. What indeed…? He had not given much thought to the matter of what to do _after_ he had released her from the Farhas threat.

"I cannot say, my friend." He shrugged. "I will leave the matter of afterward until later. For now, choose three of the most seasoned warrior. Before I was attacked, Wahid Tahir was trying to tell me something, to warn me--"

"The assassin?" Sameh asked, surprised.

He nodded. "And I believe it may have had something to do with whoever is behind this attack."

"What do you mean to do?"

"I mean to pay him a visit. To find out what he had been trying to say." Ardeth sat down once again, feeling weary and aching somewhat.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Sameh asked and then added with a chuckle, "And will your healer let you out of her sight?"

Ardeth smiled faintly. She would not be happy about it, but she would do as he asked her.

"She will argue, but I believe I might be able to convince her it is for the best," he said. "We leave in three days."

He looked up at Sameh, who dropped into a small bow, and turned to go about his assigned tasks. For some reason, Ardeth felt it might be a long three days.

* * *

Melleha was bored and hot and uncomfortable. She sat in the window space, fanning herself and alternately looking out over the baked street and turning to glare at Firyal. Things between them were still not settled, and Melleha did not think they ever would be. Firyal had hurt her. The one person she had felt she could trust had betrayed her utterly.

She got up suddenly, moaning slightly at the pain in her stomach still, and threw herself onto the bed.

"Does it still hurt, my flower," Firyal came over to sit on the side of her bed and stroke her hair. She jerked her head and pushed the hand away. Truthfully she missed the gentle touches, but she was too mad, and her pride too damaged to so quickly forgive.

"Of course it does," she snapped, irritated and then growled in frustration and rolled onto her back, covering her eyes with her fists. "Why does it have to be so damned _hot_ in here?"

"It is no hotter than usual, Melleha, just that you--"

"And why do those I used to call my friends always have to stab me in the back!"

"That was unkind," Firyal took her hands away from her face. "I tried to explain, my friend--"

"No, you tried to dictate what was good for me, like everyone else in my life." Melleha pulled her hands out of the other woman's grasp. "I thought we were closer than that."

"We are Melleha, but I know these people and now they are asking questions abo--" she cringed and broke off suddenly as Melleha sat up, an excited expression on her face.

"You have seen him again?" she asked.

"No," Firyal answered, and then sighed. "But one of his men came and if you wish to feel vindicated in your anger toward me, then know this. He was aware that I lied, and demanded the truth."

"And you told him?" She gripped Firyal's hands. Firyal nodded and she suddenly threw her arms around the other woman. "Oh, thank you Firyal!"

"Do not thank me, Melleha." Firyal pushed her back out of the embrace. "I do not know how to tell you this--"

"What has happened," she felt a flush of alarm through her. "Please don't tell me he died."

"It is nothing to do with the Medjai warrior." She sighed. "Adham received a summons this morning, from Farhas."

"No," she moaned, understanding at once. "He can't… not now!"

"He has sent for al-Mahdi to bring you to him." Firyal nodded sadly. "Some of his men will meet you and take you to him."

"But he can't!"

"The Medjai knowing of you existence cannot change things, little one. You belong to Farhas. Promised to him in marriage and al-Mahdi means to see it through." Firyal shook her a little. "You must stop dreaming, Melleha!"

Tears came to her eyes at the harsh words and at the thought of the disgusting man to whom she was to be given.

"When?" she asked fearfully.

"We are to leave as soon as you are fit to be among men." Firyal answered, meaning that they would begin their journey once her bleeding had ceased.

* * *

He and his men dismounted and walked toward the small party that he emerged from the house. He was well aware that there were guns trained on them from all angles around the walls, but also that they would not shoot if the Medjai made no move to injure the little man that stood next to the tall, black skinned giant.

"Ardeth Bay," Amir opened his arms in greeting, exaggerating his joy at seeing him, Ardeth knew. The man addressed him in English, as he always had, though a native of Egypt. No doubt to keep whatever passed between them private from the men and women that served him, and no doubt did not speak it. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Amir," he inclined his head politely, but never once took his eyes off the bodyguard standing at Amir's side. A huge muscular man, his eyes as dark as the skin of his body. He was regarding Ardeth with something approaching distaste, as though the two of them had met before. They had not… in fact this was the first time in many years that Ardeth had set foot inside Amir's desert haven.

"So… what brings the leader of the Medjai to my humble home," Amir smiled and gestured toward the doorway.

"Do not play games with me, Amir," he said firmly. "You know very well why I am here. In fact you have been expecting the visit."

He gestured around the walls and hardly raising his voice, in Arabic, he addressed the men hidden in the many defensive positions around the complex.

"So, the day comes where you are called upon to chose where lie your loyalties – to this man you call _master_ or to the Medjai that keep you from falling victim to bullet or blade of the Farhaseed?" He left a heartbeat pause before adding, "Show yourselves, put up your weapons."

"Ardeth…" Amir almost sang his name nervously, but held up his hand when the man at his side twitched toward drawing a weapon. The four men with Ardeth also moved, bringing rifles to bear on the two men before their chief.

"Yallah!" Ardeth's command was like a gunshot across the complex and to a man, each of Amir's men came from behind walls and out of doorways, unslinging their weapons as they moved.

"Really, my friend, there is no need for this…" Amir said, uncomfortable.

"Is there not?" Ardeth replied, "When you send to your brother to make an attempt on my life."

Even though he knew now that this had never been Wahid's intention until he had drawn his own blade against the assassin, Ardeth could not let Amir know that he understood that. If he did, the man might give him only half of the truth. This way he was guaranteed the whole of it.

"My friend… my friend… a misunderstanding." Amir purred, clasping his hands together. "An unfortunate mistake."

"Mistake? I think not," Ardeth answered coldly as a light breeze stirred the front of his robes. "Unfortunate…? Quite definitely."

"I sent him to warn you," Amir blurted out, "about the man who wished to see you dead."

"Not good enough, Amir, not this time." He signalled two of his men who began to walk past Amir and the black man at his side toward the house. The bodyguard's hands moved again, this time reaching the hilts of his blades before Amir could grasp his wrists.

"Ardeth, please… he is my brother," the other man whined. "For the sake of Nadia's memory if nothing else, please--"

"Who was it, Amir?" Ardeth demanded in annoyance that the man would bring his sister's memory into the equation.

"Adham al-Mahdi," Amir named the man that wanted him dead. His men were almost by the door. He called them to stop. It was an effective tactic as it now left two of his men, armed, and standing behind his reluctant ally. He was almost certain that it would not have mattered; that at a word from his lips, the men that supposedly served Amir, but in truth served only themselves and their own safety would have cut the self styled nobleman down where he stood, but in the Sahara almost was never good enough. Of his own men he was absolutely sure.

"And the reason?" he asked.

"I don't know the reason," Amir said.

"Continue," Ardeth's blunt order to his men had Amir spinning round in horror.

"Wait!" he almost squeaked. "Truly… I don't know but… Ardeth please--"

"Medjai, hona!" Ardeth ordered.

"Something to do with getting you out of the way so that the Medjai would be distracted… so that someone could get to Hamunaptra. That's all I know. I swear."

Ardeth sighed. It was _always_ about Hamunaptra.

"And where might I find this man?" he asked in the same cold tone as his men finally returned to his side, already knowing the answer to the question but needing to demonstrate to Amir that he should not cross the Medjai.

"Cairo," Amir said.

"Not far from where you were hurt," a new voice interrupted, snake soft and as cold as a desert night. "I trust you are recovered."

"Wahid," Amir said in a warning tone as Ardeth reflexively drew a blade. His men also responded, two of them turning their weapons toward the newcomer.

"Loch-nah! No!" Amir's voice was all the warning Ardeth had before he saw the blur of red moving toward him. He switched the blade into his left hand and swept it up in an awkward parry against the descent of the other man's khopesh. The clash of metal echoed uncomfortably through his body, a little better each day, but still not one hundred per cent fit. He fought not to let the effort show on his face as Sameh and another of his warriors moved past the locked blades to push the barrels of their rifles against Loch-nah.

"You always bring trouble Medjai," Wahid said lightly, dagger in hand, cleaning his fingernails with it.

"You bring trouble on yourself," Ardeth answered, pushing away from Loch-nah, but making no effort to sheath his blade. "Stay away from Hamunaptra, Wahid, or this fragile alliance truly _will_ be at an end."

Then calling his warriors away from the glowering Loch-nah, he mounted his horse, and rode quickly out of the complex

* * *

She felt empty. There was no other way she could describe it. Her home felt empty, the settlement – empty. But most of all, her heart.

She raised her fingers to the side of her face, under the veil her father had insist she put on if she were going out into the settlement, and touched the spot where he had lightly kissed her cheek the day before and now as evening approached, she took her familiar place on the top of the dune, staring out into the desert as if her watchful gaze could help to keep him safe.

"_I have to go, Lamis, you know that," he said softly as he came up behind her, startling her. She turned to face him and almost couldn't bring herself to look up into his eyes. "I explained--"_

"_I know," she said, finally looking up. "Just make sure you're careful…fight with a single blade for a time, or don't fight at all. You--"_

_He took her by the shoulders then, and looked down at her softly._

"_I SHALL be coming this way again, my friend," he said._

_But never again the same, she somehow knew that as a certainty. When next she saw Ardeth, everything would be different. She smiled faintly, unable to answer and fought the tears that came to her eyes then. He wiped them away and shook his head._

"_Do not worry for me, Lamis," he murmured, and drew her into a soft embrace. He let her go only a moment later._

"_Go without fear, Ardeth," she said softly._

"_May Allah keep you safe," he replied._

* * *

"Ardeth?" Sameh questioned as he drew his horse to a halt, but made no attempt to dismount. The street was dark. It brought back memories of the pain, almost real. But then he was tired and it would be a while before they could rest.

From the alleyway that led to the museum a single figure detached itself – the Medjai warrior left to watch the house. He greeted Ardeth and the others respectfully.

"They are gone," he said.

"Gone? Gone where and when?" he dismounted and went to him.

"I do not know. But they took a woman with them. A fat man, three guards and the woman. Earlier today, before noon."

Ardeth swore. "How many guards left inside?" he asked.

The Medjai shrugged. "Two, perhaps… certainly no more than four."

"Gather your things and then wait here with the horses," he told him and to the others added. "When we get inside, do whatever you have to. Sameh, show me where you found the horse master's daughter."

* * *

She had long since stopped sobbing, and now simply couldn't move for the pain and the ache in her head and in her hand. She did not even know what had prompted her to act the way she had and lash out at al-Mahdi.

Perhaps it was the terror – genuine terror – she had seen in Melleha's eyes that made her leap for him and rake her nails down his cheek.

He had grabbed her hand and twisted several of her fingers, then thrown her off with a slap to the side of her face that had left her reeling, before he lashed out again and she hit the wall. When she had come round, her door was locked, and she lay, where she had fallen, she had crawled to her bed, and there she lay… sobbing at her pain, her failure, and the loss of a young woman whose life she had shared since she was just a girl.

She ached… her back, her legs, her head from a long day in the sun, by most of all she was afraid. She had never been so afraid in her life. By nightfall they had reached the Oasis where Adham had told her they would await the escort that Farhas was sending to bring her to him.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that gathered in them… threw her arms over her head in fact and sobbed and sobbed until her chest hurt, and then still again until she had exhausted herself and drifted into a restless sleep.

_

* * *

_

_The noise of hoof beats woke her and a single shot made her heart race. She heard voices, deep voices, speaking in rapid Arabic, and then a single voice rang out in authority._

_Her heart skipped a beat… it was him. It had to be him. She couldn't make out what he was saying, couldn't understand his words, but his tone was unmistakable. Commanding them… and then the door to her tent flew open and he was there, standing in her doorway._

_She flew from her bedroll into his arms and he held her close as she shivered against him in nothing but her thin white night dress._

"_You came then," she breathed as she trembled, her breath suddenly hard to catch._

"_Ssshhh," he said. "Do not speak."_

"_But why? You…" he captured her face between his hands, and crushed his mouth against hers in a kiss that took what little breath she had, then picked her up and carried her back to her bedroll._

A sound, like a gunshot and she was instantly awake, sitting bolt upright, with her hand pressed against her pounding heart. She froze – waiting for the rescue…

But it didn't come.

She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and went to the doorway, to look out into the dark oasis, and to the fire that had been built. The sound came again, accompanied by a shower of sparks into the air, and she knew it had been nothing but the cracking of one of the logs on the fire. Once more, tears pricked her eyes.

* * *

"Locked," Ardeth said quietly, and with a shrug, and a similar thought to his companion the two of them kicked in the door.

He was glad of Sameh's help as a bolt of pain jarred through his body. He breathed in sharply and held his breath until the pain passed. Breathing out slowly he found his Second looking at him in concern.

He nodded and the two of them approached the immobile figure lying on the bed. Still she did not move, and for a moment he started to wonder if she were still alive. Then she whimpered as he came into what would have been her line of sight and tried to scramble away, crying out in pain as she moved.

"No," he said firmly. "Peace! You are safe."

She let out a sound that might have been a sob and he sat down on the side of the small bed and gently reached out to turn her head away from the pillow on which she lay. Even as she protested, he unclipped her veil, pulling the covering carefully from her head, and frowned as he revealed the huge, clearly hand shaped bruise to her cheek.

"Sameh, get me some water," he said and very carefully slipped his arms under her shoulders to lift her slightly more upright against the pillows. Sameh handed a beaker into his waiting hand, and he brought it to her lips. She fought him, clearly not rational.

"Listen to me, girl," he said firmly. "You are dehydrated, you need water."

He took her chin in his hand and carefully poured a small amount of water into her mouth. The water revived her somewhat, and she tried to pull his hand toward her then.

"Gently," he instructed, not letting her take too much. "What happened here?"

"Melleha…" she gasped, pushing the water away to answer him, and then almost twisting his gut as she cried out in pain when her hand touched the cup.

"Let me see," he said, taking her arm carefully in his hands and pulling her hand toward him. He could easily see the way two of her fingers were broken. "Who did this to you?"

"Adham," she sobbed. "I tried to save her… tried to save Melleha, but--"

"Hush," he murmured, still holding her wrist. "No more tears now. You are safe, and so will be Melleha. But it is time for you to come home now… back to your people."

She closed her eyes then, fighting for control, he knew… to stop her tears. He tried hard to remember her name as he instructed his second to bring him the things he would need. Broken fingers were common amongst Medjai warriors, who fought in close hand to hand combat so he was used to dealing with them.

"Firyal," he said, touching her cheek lightly to attract her attention. "I need to set your hand. Your fingers are broken and unless straightened will heal wrongly."

She nodded wordlessly, and swallowed hard when Sameh sat down on the other side of the bed.

"Hold on to me while Ardeth does this thing for you," Sameh said softly, reaching down to ease her up into his embrace, cradling the back of he head with his hand as she rested against his shoulder. Ardeth turned a curious expression in the direction of his second. Sameh frowned at him, and he smiled, shaking his head.

Her self control impressed him. She did not scream, or cry out over much – just moaned softly as though she were breathing out the pain he was causing her – while he straightened and splinted the fingers, and bound the hand so that they would not move. Still… she was trembling and somewhat pale when he had finished, and tied a spare veil she had around her neck to make a sling for her arm.

"Where is he taking her?" he asked when he injury was tended, and sensitive to her discomfort, refastened her veil for her.

"They took a steamer to Medum and then overland – west – to the oasis at Fayum," she said.

Ardeth nodded. "I know it well. What will happen when they get there, do you know?"

"All I know is that they must wait for the Farhaseed to come for her." she said.

He turned to Sameh, "We will go straight to Sakkara and rest there for the night. We can be in Fayum by nightfall tomorrow."

"God-willing," Sameh agreed.

* * *

The wind carried their scent in her direction and made her feel even more physically sick. The Farhaseed warriors had arrived just before dusk, announcing that it was too dark to begin their return until morning, and that they would stay with the camp until that time.

She felt like getting up and running out into the desert, but each time she made a move to rise one or other of them would look in her direction or one of Adham's men would move enough to make her nervous enough to forget that she even thought of the idea.

It just got darker and colder.

Eventually, she got up. One of the Farhaseed got up with her and pointed his rifle in her direction.

"I'm tired," she snapped. "I need to sleep."

She mined the action of sleeping, and understanding he gestured toward her tent. She started toward it, but before she even got half way she got caught in the middle of her worst nightmare.

Hoof beats, and gunshots and total chaos exploded into the camp as horsemen rode through, snatching brands from the fire which they tossed onto the canvass structures.

The smoke stung her eyes and she screamed, covering her ears and trying to run, first in one direction, and then as a horse reared in her way, her heart almost bursting in shock she turned and tried another direction.

She screamed again as a bullet glanced off a nearby palm and an arm reached around her waist, lifted her from her feet and pushed her to the ground.

She was smothered by voluminous blackness, and a warm spicy scent filtered through to her senses – a vague familiar memory stirred and was wiped away a moment later as a second bullet joined the first in the trunk of the nearby tree. She jumped and cried out – well past screaming – her heart beat so fast she could barely distinguish one beat from the next, and liquid cold crawled sluggishly through her limbs in place her blood. The sound of a rifle fired right beside her almost burst her delicate ears…

And then silence… she curled as tightly as the body around her would allow, and barely felt it move away from her.

Hands closed around her wrists, large and strong hands.

_They dragged her into what remained of the camp, beside the ruined fire and the burning tents and began to tear at her clothes…_

"No… no please," her throat was constricted, her voice high pitched in terror. Her struggles were frantic. "Don't hurt me… please…!"

"Calm down." the rich, deep voice was as calming as it could be, given that he was struggling with her. "It is all right… It is finished… Calm down."

Slowly his words and the tone of his voice, firm but calm and soothing started to penetrate through her frantic instinctive reaction. She started to relax and stopped struggling quite so much.

"You are safe… ease up now," he said.

"_You came then," she breathed as she trembled, her breath suddenly hard to catch. She flew into his arms and he held her close as she shivered against him._

Suddenly recognising his voice she threw herself against his chest, trembling… sobbing and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She felt his touch; only his arms did not come around her… they held her gently by the shoulders and eased her away.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his accent rolling the r around her suddenly burning ears.

"I… I don't think so," she answered softly.

"Then come," he slipped an arm around her waist and helped her to rise. She felt herself blush anew as the strong muscles bunched against her. "We need to be away from here. Then we will decide what best to do."

She pushed away from him slightly, hiding her embarrassment as best she could in indignation.

"Thank you, sir… for rescuing me, but… How can I go with you? I don't even know your name. "

"Do you not?" his expression in the dim, flickering light from the nearby fires was challenging for a moment, and then he turned to begin to walk away.

"Wait…" she called out after him, suddenly realising that he would leave her there if she did not do as he had said. "I'm sorry… it's just the shock I--"

"Come," he said simply, holding a hand in her direction. "I will take you to Firyal. She is waiting in our camp."


	6. Exposure

Forbidden Chapter 6 – Exposure 

She walked quietly at his side still burning with the embarrassment of the way she had behaved when she'd realised who he was. It had been the voice, mostly, since it was dark and – with his face covered as it was, all that remained were his eyes, which had challenged her – insisting she did know him. She shivered… not a man to be crossed.

His presence seemed to fill the oasis as he led her back out into what was left of the small camp. Her tent had long since burned to the ground and was now little more than flickering embers in the sandy grasses. The bodies had been left where they had fallen. She tried to turn away, to hide her eyes in the black of his robes, but he had moved away and was speaking softly in Arabic to another warrior. She found herself getting lost in the sounds of the words coming from his mouth.

She jumped when he turned and addressed her and called her to his side, and to the side of the horse that he turned to mount before she had reached him.

It was huge, and as black as the desert darkness. The barding seemed only to enhance the animal's terrifying appearance. Where was the camel she had ridden to the oasis? She looked around and peered into the darkness, and didn't realise she had backed away a step until asked quietly.

"Is something wrong?"

"I… I can't," she stammered.

He sighed and held out his hand toward her. "You will be safe… I promise I will not let you fall."

"No, really… I…" she shook her head, looking at the animal fearfully.

Movement above her line of sight drew her eyes upward. He had reached up and pulled down the covering from his face, revealing the strong jaw she remembered and the dark covering of the hair of his beard.

"Perhaps you did not understand when I said we need to be away from here, Miss," he said briskly, holding out his hand once more. "You have nothing to fear from the animal. Come."

The look in his eyes, uncompromising, strong and authoritarian had her, in spite of her fear of horses, moving to obey his command. As she got nearer he slipped his closest foot from the stirrup.

The horse snorted softly as the weight shifted on its back and once more she almost moved back a step. Only the firm grasp the warrior's eyes had on her stopped her, although she moaned softly.

"Put your foot into the stirrup and take my hand," he instructed.

Shaking, she lifted her foot to find the metal of the stirrup. It was high and difficult for her to reach, and almost overbalancing, she made a sudden grab for his robe. He moved as swiftly as a striking snake, one of his hands cupping her elbow, while, bending from the top of his horse, he slipped the other arm around her, beneath her arm, to hoist her up in front of him, side saddle, held in the circle of his arms.

"Is it far?" her voice trembled and she pulled back a little so that she could look at him as he took the reins in his hands.

"Lean your head on my shoulder and rest," he bade her. "You will barely notice the journey."

* * *

Holding up a hand, and slowing the horses to a walk, Ardeth sighed. It would be almost dawn before they got back to Sakkara and then the animals, if not his warriors would need to rest. It could not be helped.

The woman too, although sleeping now, would need to rest. Her sleep was fitful and often she would moan lightly, and move against his shoulder. He had noticed a number of occasions when the arm around his waist had tightened, as though she were afraid to fall, or the hand that held on to the front of his robes tightened into a little white fist.

As now…

Shifting the reins to one hand he briefly covered her tiny fingers with his own large warm hand. Her hand was cold. Such a small hand that had acted so bravely in giving him back his life. He sighed… but what to do with her now?

Sameh had told him that in the thick of the battle the man that had brought her into the desert had fled the oasis. None of his warriors had been in a position to take him out, which annoyed him slightly more than he would have thought.

The man would likely return to his home in Cairo, making him virtually untouchable, unless the Ardeth wanted to cause trouble between the Medjai and the local authorities. So returning her to her family – probably one of the many western families that had settled in Cairo was not a particular option. She would end up right back in the same situation, if what Firyal had told him was true, and although she had lied to him before, he had no reason to assume that she doing so in that instance.

He shook his head. How could any man so dispose of his children… and to discharge a debt? It only further confirmed his opinion of most westerners… cowardly and opportunistic.

His thoughts were interrupted, as she stirred against his shoulder, the hand under his, wriggling slightly, as if to be free.

"Hush now," he murmured absently. "We are nearly there."

"Where is _there_?" she asked sleepily.

"Sakkara," he answered, and looked down at her. "We will rest there before we continue our journey."

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"We will discuss what you wish to do later," he answered, understanding the way she phrased the question even though he felt a small thrill of annoyance at it, "when we are all of us rested."

"Sir I--" she started, sounding awkward. His light chuckle cut her off. "What?"

"My name is Ardeth," he said softly and looked down at her. "Or have you forgotten that?"

His sensitive eyes saw the blush that spread to colour even what small space was left uncovered by the veil she was wearing.

"Not forgotten," she told him, once more covering her embarrassment with the same indignation he had heard her use when he had rescued her and insisted she accompany him. "Just not yet given permission to use it."

"Then you have it," he answered swiftly, smiling inwardly at her attempt to appear so brave and feisty when she was so clearly most unbalanced by what had happened to her. He took hold of the hand that was holding his robes and raised it to his lips, to kiss her knuckles. "Ardeth Bay, at your service, ya xayfa'i."

"Um…" she stammered again. "Thank you, I… erm… shouldn't you be holding the reins or something?"

"Perhaps," he conceded, genuinely amused by her reaction. "But Firaan does not appear to be at all out of control."

"Firaan?" she asked.

"The name of my horse," he answered quietly.

"Oh," she said. "I see."

She pulled her hand from his then and for a time sent it down on her own leg, until the shifting of the animal beneath her, or perhaps the way he automatically tightened his arms around her, because she was not holding him as securely as before, made her bring her hand back to his chest, to once again hold on to the edge of the robe.

He shook his head, and looked ahead once more, watching as the ruins of Sakkara came into view against the backdrop of the slightly lightening sky as dawn approached.

"We will rest here until noon," he said to his men in Arabic. "We cannot risk staying longer in so exposed a position."

Sameh pushed his horse up until he was riding beside him.

"What of the girl?" he asked, nodding toward Melleha, who had once again settled her head against his chest, almost as though she were trying to hide her face in his robes. He merely shrugged.

"I do not yet know. That will be her decision," he answered.

"But surely--"

"I said that will be for her to decide. Enough!" He snapped, not even knowing why his second in command's questioning his word she bother him so much.

* * *

Never had she been quite so relieved than when he drew the horse to a halt, and after dismounting quickly, Ardeth lifted her down to the ground. She thanked him quietly and with a polite nod, he turned and walked away to consult with the man that had obviously been left as sentry for the camp.

"Melleha!" Firyal's voice came from the other side of the horse and she hurried around, meaning to catch her friend up in a hug. She stopped dead when she saw the other woman.

Her arm was in a sling across her chest and even through the sheer veil she could see the bruise on the side of her face.

"Firyal, I'm so sorry," she gave her a gentle hug.

"There is no need," Firyal said, shaking her head. "The fault was not yours but was Adham's."

"Even so, you suffered because of me." Melleha allowed Firyal to draw her toward a tent, where the two of them might have some privacy.

"The world does not revolve around you Melleha. Adham hurt me because I crossed him. You just happened to be another of the things involved in the situation. Enough… I will not let you blame yourself for my injuries."

Melleha sighed. She understood that Firyal was trying to get her to stop feeling guilty, but could she not have chosen words that were a little less hurtful. She never once suggested that she was the centre of the universe… that everything was happening because of her. Just that Firyal had been hurt when she leaped at Adham, and she had leaped at Adham because he was dragging _her_ somewhere she did not wish to be.

"Melleha, what will you do?" Firyal asked once they were alone. "You are free now. You can go home. You--"

"Firyal," she said, mildly irritated. "Why is it that you are always trying to steer me away from these people?"

And here was another thing that annoyed and hurt her. That Firyal was trying her hardest to keep her from the Medjai. She thought it was almost as though the other woman wanted to keep them for herself. Granted they were her people but... She sighed.

"I am not. You--"

"You are!" she snapped. "From the beginning, you have kept me away from them, even to the point of threatening me and trying to frighten me, with tales of death and--"

"And I was right, was I not?" Firyal countered sharply. "They did kill. To free you, they killed."

"They had no choice," she hissed softly, hearing footsteps outside of the tent. "They were being shot at, and so was I. They have been nothing but gentle to me."

"Do not confuse honour with gentle behaviour," Firyal said, hotly. "If one of them behaves gently toward you, you will know it."

Melleha sighed. "Why is it that we are always fighting, Firyal? What has got into you?"

"I _know_ these people, Melleha. My father was one of these people, and they are _not_ who or what you think they are."

"So far," she answered, fighting to keep the blush from showing on her face, "they have been _exactly_ who and what I thought them to be."

It was a lie and she knew it. The leader had not come into the camp and swept her up into his arms to kiss her until she was breathless from it, and as gentle as he had been, Firyal was right. There was a hard edge beneath it to which she refused to give more than a fleeting thought. It was just the stress of the situation that had caused his harshness. He _was_ the kind man she thought him to be… had to be…

_He took hold of the hand that was holding his robes. She watched with startled eyes as he raised it to his lips, to kiss her knuckles. "Ardeth Bay, at your service, ya xayfa'i."_

"_Um…" she stammered. Her insides turned seven kinds of somersaults at the soft touch of his lips against the sharp prickle of his beard. "Thank you, I… erm… shouldn't you be holding the reins or something?"_

"_Perhaps," he conceded._

He had not let go of her hand, had even teased her about the temperament of the horse. The only reason he had stopped short of taking the matter any further was her embarrassment, because as Firyal had said, he was an honourable man.

"Melleha?" Firyal shook her slightly. "Are you listening?"

"What?" she asked absently.

"I asked again what you intend to do now." Firyal answered.

"I don't know," she said, but in her mind she saw herself in the middle of a bright, cheerful green oasis, before a large tent like dwelling, held in Ardeth's arms with their children around them, watching them playing, and watching also the rest of the Medjai in the village.

* * *

The Medjai were resting, but he could not find peace in his own heart enough to rest with them. Too many thoughts and questions, so he had relieved the warrior on watch, instructing him to go to his rest and now sat on top of the dune, staring out over the harsh desert.

"You are not super human, Ardeth." Sameh's voice behind him made him smile, "You too need to rest, perhaps you especially."

"If I did not know better, my friend," he said mildly, "I would suggest that you have been speaking with Lamis."

Sameh chuckled.

"Ah so it is the little healer that captures your thoughts and will not let you rest." Ardeth's answering chuckle was short lived. He sighed as his friend sat down beside him. "And to think, I believed that you were thinking of the girl we rescued."

"I was," he answered on the end of another sigh. He felt rather than saw Sameh turn to face him. "I was just wondering what she will want to do."

"She will return to her family," Sameh said with some authority. "What other choice is there?"

"That was where my thoughts were travelling," he said quietly. "I wondered if perhaps it would be safer for her to return with us to the First Tribe."

"What do you mean?" Sameh frowned at him when he turned to face him.

"To offer her sanctuary among our people," he answered.

"Ardeth, are you trying to tell me you have feelings for his girl?"

"Do I have feelings for her? Let me see… she saved my life; she has suffered all manner of hardships through her own and she was to be given in marriage to a man I know to be a cruel and heinous individual… yes I suppose I do." His voice held a note of sarcasm and he blew out a swift breath down his nose, almost a humourless laugh.

"That's not what I meant, and you know that full well." Sameh said sharply.

Ardeth sighed. "I do not know the girl. How could I feel for her, more than the sympathy I already do."

"There is no shame, my friend, in admitting to gentle feelings for her," his second in command told him. "Only I question the wisdom of bringing her into the First."

He shifted uncomfortably and answered firmly, "I have no feelings for the girl. I will admit she has eyes that are pleasant enough, but she irritates me in her constant questioning and the way she must be told to do everything twice."

"All right," Sameh chuckled but held up his hands in defeat.

"But for the fact that she saved my life, I would deliver her back to her family in Cairo and that would be an end to the matter."

"I said, all right," his friend said. "Why should you act differently, just because she saved your life? You have delivered her from her distasteful future as Farhas' wife. Your debt to her is discharged."

Ardeth shook his head.

"No," he said. "I do not believe she would be safe were she to return to a family that sold her to such a man as Adham al-Mahdi in the first place."

"You believe they would simply return her to him?"

"That is my worry, yes. And since by now, he is probably in Cairo, building a fortress around him…" he left the words hanging, and then, uncomfortable with being questioned in such a manner, and at the thoughts those questions were raising in his own mind, with a raised eyebrow he asked, "But what of you, my friend?"

Sameh grinned obviously catching on to his meaning. "I have never denied having feelings for Firyal. She is beautiful, do you not think?"

"It is not my place to comment on the beauty of the woman that has stolen your heart," he answered.

"My heart?" Sameh laughed. "My loins, yes, but my heart…?"

"Oh the heart is lost too," he answered, knowing his second too well. "Even if you are too proud to admit it."

"You my friend," Sameh stood and pointed at Ardeth's nose, "See too much…and have no cause to speak to me of denying your feelings."

"I have denied nothing," he protested.

"You have been denying greater feelings than you will admit for the past eight years of your life." Sameh countered, turning back to face him, "And now I worry that you attempt to bury them beneath concern for another, and feelings that are purely physical, to which you will not even admit."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, knowing full well and feeling a flush of heat, annoyance and sorrow rushing through him all in one moment, leaving him more than a little off balance. "I do as I must. There are things--"

"Ardeth, Ardeth, enough," Sameh said softly. "I understand. I merely caution the need to be wary; the need for care in whatever you decide."

"In the end, Sameh, the decision will not be mine at all," he sighed, trying to push away the twisted feeling that was left of his emotions after his friend had backed down… no doubt because he had seen his temper about to boil over… knowing that he had touched a nerve. "I will not force the girl to any one course of action, and leave the matter of the future in Allah's hands, as I must."

* * *

"Can I, mum? Can I?" Alex pulled at Evy's arm as she surveyed their small camp on the outskirts of the temple at Karnak.

"Well, I don't know, Alex… you're a little young to be--"

"Oh go on, Evy," Jonathan urged. Rick smiled. Alex doted on his uncle, and he understood why. Jonathan was always there to support him in his arguments with his parents… undermining their authority as only a favourite uncle could. "It's not like he'd be miles away, just in the next tent."

"I still don't like it, what if--"

"Evy," he came up and put his arms round his wife. "Let's give our son a little credit, huh? Give him his own tent. I'm sure if anything bothers him he knows enough to come get one of us."

"Dad's right, mum," Alex grinned at his parents, for once not complaining about them being in each other's arms. "I promise I'll check properly for bugs, and snakes."

Evy sighed, and wrapped her arms over Ricks as he held her. "All right, Alex."

He swiftly hugged his parents and then turned to tug on Jonathan's hand.

"Come on, Uncle Jon," he said. "Help me put it up."

Rick just raised his eyebrows at Jonathan's pained look. The two of them were interrupted by the leader of the dig coming excitedly toward the small party.

"Evelyn," He shook her hand and then reached for Rick's, "Rick, marvellous timing. You should _see_ the text we uncovered this morning."

"Something new?" Evy asked.

Rick laughed… ever the Egyptologist.

"I'll… go and help Jonathan set up," he said. He took hold of her hand. "You go look at the text – just promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"No reading it out aloud," he said seriously, drawing a puzzled look from Laski. "You know the trouble we had last time."

"I promise," she said with a huge smile.

He watched her walk away with a smile and a shake of his head at how beautiful she still was to him, even after so many years of marriage. They had a good life together, a wonderful son, a beautiful home… he sighed. If only he could persuade her to stop chasing around after new and undiscovered artefacts and temples. They could settle down, send Alex to a good school and…

"Hey dad," Alex ran up and tugged on his jacket. "Do you think we'll find any buried treasure? Are we going to see Ardeth again… and the rest of the Medjai? Can I go and see what mum is doing? Can we--"

"Alex, we only just got here," he laughed. "Let's get settled in and then we'll see about all the rest of it. Now, show me this tent of yours."

* * *

They were putting the saddles back onto the horses, so they must have been preparing to leave. Melleha shook the sleep, far too short, from her head and was about to go and ask when the Medjai leader appeared beside her.

She swallowed hard. In full daylight he looked even more magnificent that she could have imagined. His strong jaw line, accented by the beard; his high cheekbones, made more beautiful by the strange marks that adorned them and his eyes, deep brown and soulful; so intense that she feared he must be able to see right into the innermost secrets of her heart, he was truly beautiful.

"Ardeth," she greeted him, little more than a squeak, for which she cursed herself.

"I trust you slept well?" he enquired. His voice was a caress around her ears and she found herself hearing a totally different question in her mind, one that was more suited to his deep, inviting voice.

She blushed and forced herself to concentrate. "I… erm. Thank you yes, I did. Though perhaps a little short."

"My apologies," he dipped her a little half-bow that left her heart beating at least ten times faster than it was in the moment before, "but there is still the need to put some distance between ourselves and the oasis."

"I understand," she said and half reached out to squeeze his arm comfortingly, but the look on his face, the look which forbade it, stopped her cold.

"We are preparing to leave. I am sure you have noticed," he said. "I merely need to know where it is your wish to be taken."

"Well, um…" she cleared her throat and tried to think straight, somehow finding tears coming unbidden to her eyes at his words, and at his demeanour. She said tearfully, "I can't go home. Adham told me that my father had agreed to the match with Farhas. He would simply send me back to Adham, or worse, take me to Farhas himself."

"Melleha, you don't know that's true!" Firyal interrupted, coming to take hold of her hand. "Adham could have said that to try and hurt you."

"Well then if he did, he succeeded," she sniffed. "And I wouldn't feel safe if I were there, knowing that Adham could simply show up and demand that I be given back to him. My father is a weak man and he would cave in, I know it."

She turned away from the disapproving expression she saw in Firyal's eyes and let her bottom lip tremble as much as it wanted; if it would make the Medjai leader give her what she dreamed… a life at his side… his love… his passion.

* * *

Ardeth sighed, and stood quietly by as the two women argued. Firyal's counsel was wise and Melleha seemed to simply ignore everything she tried to say. Across the camp he caught the eyes of his second watching the exchange.

He sighed again and looked down at Melleha. Her tearful eyes, light blue, held the edge of a hope that he had seen enough times before to recognise that she found him attractive and which he chose, in that moment, to ignore.

"Ladies, enough!" he commanded softly and then to Melleha alone as they both fell silent, he continued, "If you truly cannot return to your home, then I will gladly offer you sanctuary among the Medjai."

"You would take me with you?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"As I said, you may return with us the First Tribe." He watched her wipe away her tears. "But understand this… if you are to live among the Medjai, you will not be able to return to visit your family. I cannot allow our settlement to be exposed in that way."

* * *

She almost faltered then… to leave behind her family… the mother and sisters that she loved for an unknown life among an unknown people…?

But then no, not an unknown people… Firyal would be there… and so too would Ardeth. She would have a new life, with a new family and soon after she would have children of her own to care for.

"I think," she said softly, feeling the huge step she was making as she spoke the words, "I should like to come with you, Ardeth."

He gave her the polite inclining of his head once more then turned to her antagonistic friend.

"Firyal," he said. "Please assist Melleha to cover herself against the sun."

"Sayiidi," Firyal bowed slightly and then caught her arm to draw her away from Ardeth who had already turned to go and see to his horse.

"Wilful girl," Firyal hissed out of the corner of her mouth as she all but dragged her back to the tent, where she could fix her veil so that it covered her head as well, to protect her from the harsh rays of the afternoon sun. "You should be careful the things you wish for!"

"You know that what I'm saying is true," she countered, tired of Firyal's objections. "Adham is out there and my father would just return me to his house, and then I would be beaten before being dragged off to Farhas."

"You _know_ what I mean," Firyal pulled her hair as she fastened the veil into place. "He will not _look_ at you once we arrive and you will be lost in a sea of strangers."

"You will be there," she said softly. "You are _always_ at my side."

"No," Firyal said, and she actually bushed. Melleha frowned in puzzlement. "It is different this time. These are my people. _I_ shall be coming home, for you it will be--"

"An adventure," she said and took the ends of the veil that Firyal was almost strangling her with and eased them from the other woman's hands.

* * *

Celia walked back to the edge of the camp, away from the fire pit, where she would soon be slaving away to cook a meal for her fiancé and his men, and looked up toward the rise. They were still there… the silent black clad figures, looking down at them.

She had mentioned them to Francis, but he had dismissed her concerns, calling her a hysterical woman. She was not hysterical… but she would get that way if he touched her again in the way he had earlier.

_The tea was steaming even in the desert heat as she brought it inside the small entrance way that their excavations had uncovered. She carefully made her way down the stone steps… careful not to slip on the sand that had blown onto the steps in the breeze that was hot and uncomfortable._

_She picked her way over the many scorpion skeletons, so obviously squashed by the booted feet of the man that had brought her to that awful place, and the equally awful minions under him._

"_I've brought you some tea, Francis," she said as she rounded a corner in the corridor and came to stand behind him. He jumped and spun around._

"_Jesus woman!" he brandished a ridiculous looking, tiny chisel in her direction. "Haven't I ever told you not to sneak up on me like that?"_

"_I brought you some tea," she repeated, holding out the cup._

_He snatched the metal cup out of her hand and set it on a nearby ledge, together with the chisel and surprising her totally, pushed her until her back was against the wall._

"_It isn't tea I want from you, Celia. It was never that."_

_She pushed against his chest, struggling with his greater strength as he pressed a hand against her body, to cup her breast in his hand. One of his knees forced it's way between her legs as he pinned her in place, making it abundantly clear that she was his in the way his fingers traced their way lazily over her._

"_Francis, don't," she said, "you can't!"_

"_We're practically married," he argued, pulling a couple of her buttons free of the button holes. "What difference will waiting make? No one will ever know out here in the desert."_

"_Please," she whimpered as he seemingly got bored of trying to get at her breast and reached for a more intimate place. "It makes a difference to me."_

"_Francis!" The shout from one of his men saved her, his fingers pressed against her by the pressure of his knee. "You should come and look at this."_

"_You'll keep," he laughed._

She shuddered as she remembered the tone in his voice and wondered what she could do to keep him away from her.

* * *

Since they had slowed the rhythmic swaying of the horse had lulled her into the light sleep she now enjoyed, even if the warrior with whom she rode was not Ardeth. Her mind drifted…

"_You should sleep, Melleha." His voice sounded terribly close behind her and she shivered._

"_I couldn't sleep," she answered, turning to face him in the moonlight, "I'm too cold."_

"_Of course you are cold," his said in a slightly amused tone of voice, "you choose to stand out in the middle of the desert, than come and sit close by the fire."_

"_It isn't just that, it--"_

"_Come." He took hold of her hand. "Let me hold you while you rest."_

She jerked awake, she didn't know what had startled her but she felt almost as though she were slipping from the horse. Frantically she made a grab for the Medjai that held her and felt his arms tighten around her.

"Ehadee inti beamman elaan." The voice murmured to her in Arabic.

"I'm fine," she said, struggling to remember how to say so. She couldn't. Instead she turned her eyes to find where Ardeth was riding, slightly up ahead, along with his second in command.

She watched the way he moved, strong and sure, almost as though he were a part of the animal he rode. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him and remembered what it had felt like to be held in his arms, so close to his body.

His muscles were firm against her back and the arm around her waist was warm and strong. When his hand had covered hers that too was warm, his fingers long and – she imagined – dexterous. She had heard one of Adham's servants once, discussing with another, what a man could do with his hands, she blushed and swallowing hard, pressed her legs together to stop the unfamiliar warmth from spreading still further through her body, from the tingling, moist feeling that had developed between her legs.

No doubt thinking she was becoming uncomfortable from riding so long, the Medjai behind her called to Ardeth in Arabic that she hadn't a hope to translate, except to recognise that he was talking about her. She blushed again.

Ardeth reined in his horse and dropped back to ride beside the man on whose horse she was a passenger.

"We will stop in a little while," he said softly. "I know you are tired, but just a little longer."

"All right," she said swallowing hard at the concern she heard in his voice.

* * *

It was quiet. The men all lay sleeping.

He smiled as his eyes fell on Sameh, his arm wrapped around the waist of the woman, Firyal, keeping her warm, he knew, as they had not been able to put up the tents on such shifting sand as that on which they had been forced to make their camp. She had turned toward him and beneath where the cloak had slipped he saw her hands were holding onto the front of his robes as she had tried to snuggle closer.

The smile faded. He would need to speak with Sameh in the morning, and with the woman. He could not ignore so obvious an attraction and not give them the permission they needed to go forward together.

He sighed. Perhaps Sameh had been right; perhaps he had been fighting things for too long. Perhaps it was time that he thought about finding someone with whom to share _his_ life.

"_But how will you find that love, if with a woman you have never met before – never even seen?"_

Lamis' question echoed in his mind as he thought about it, and about Melleha, who – in spite of his protestations of innocence – he did look upon somewhat softly. It was true also that he found her infuriating, but perhaps that was part of what captured his interest. She was wilful and yet for the most part timid enough so as not to overstep the mark that would threaten his masculinity. He sighed as his finally admitted the attraction he felt, but could he grow to love her?

He looked over to the space where she had made her bed earlier in the evening. His heart tightened the bedroll was empty. He turned quickly through a full circle.

"Damned… reckless… woman," he hissed as he spotted her standing on the top of one of the small dunes that shielded their camp. Setting his face into an angry scowl he strode purposefully up to the top of the dune and grasped her arm, turning her round to face him.

"What do you think you are doing?" he asked crossly.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, "I'm too cold."

"Have you any idea how reckless you are being? How dangerous it is for you to be out here?"

She pulled out of his grasp and turned her face defiantly upward.

"For goodness sake," she snapped, "I can still see the camp from where I'm standing – and you found me didn't you?"

"That is not the point," he shot back, anger rising that she dared speak to him in such a fashion. "You were told to rest; to stay in the camp. W_hen _will you do as you are--?"

He felt the sting against his cheek as she slapped him, cutting off what he had been about to say and felt as if fire and ice had been poured into him at the same time. He took a huge breath and let it out slowly, clenching his jaw to stop the murderous expression from spreading onto his face.

"Only one woman has every dared to lay a hand on me and she was my mother," he said with frosty bitter calm. "Never hit me again."

He saw her shrink back for a moment and then she frowned. "I shall if I think you deserve it."

His brain refused to believe the words he heard. With deadly control he said, "Return to your bed, Melleha. We will speak on this in the morning."

"The hell we will!" she moved to turn away, to look back out over the desert.

Her open disobedience was more than he could handle and without a second though he snatched her up across his shoulder and started to carry her back toward the camp.

"Put me _down_!" she yelled at him, beating her fists against his back.

He took a deep breath when her fist connected with a point on his back that had been injured, and almost stumbling, he set her back on her feet and straightened up into another slap that stung his cheek more than the first had done, and wounded his pride even more.

The look he had been trying to keep from his face spread there quickly. His eyes hardened and narrowed slightly. His jaw tight, his lips pressed together. He felt as if he could quite easily have stopped a raging hoard of Tuareg warlords with the expression that must have been on his face.

Not so Melleha. Amazingly she raised her hand again. He stepped forward, caught her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. It brought her right against his body and he leaned down to speak right into her ear as the cold rage that had flashed through him began to give way to warmer sensations. "I said… _never_ hit me again…"

* * *

She shuddered as he pressed up against her and spoke dangerously low in her ear. His breath against her neck, coupled with the hard muscles pressed against her almost made her swoon. Heat flushed through her and then was instantly dampened with the horror of the moment his actual words registered in her mind.

She had hit him… she had let her temper, and the stress of the last few days get to her and she had lashed out at the man that had shown her nothing but concern and gentleness.

Then the look in his eyes registered. It was a look that confirmed everything that Firyal had been saying about these people, and more… she swallowed and started to struggle, trying to put some distance between them, even though she felt the undeniable flush of the same feeling as earlier go through her, leaving her aching, tingling and shaky.

"Please," she whispered fearfully, "let go."

"To have you hit me again?" he said. "I think not."

"I won't," she promised, "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. I won't ever, I promise."

Suddenly, almost sickeningly quickly he stepped away and spun her around, without letting go of her, and still leaning down to speak to her quietly, he instructed, "Tell me what you see."

"Nothing," she said, close to tears. "It's too dark, I can't see anything."

"Close your eyes."

She shook her head, unsure, fearful of what he might do.

"Do as I say and close your eyes."

Trembling, she closed her eyes and felt the soft touch of the sleeve of his robe across where her veil had fallen away in their struggles.

"When I move my arm away from your face, open your eyes and tell me what you see." He instructed his voice softer now. More gentle, almost as before.

The warmth of his arm was there a moment longer before it was gone. She opened her eyes, and just at the moment she did, she caught sight of the twinkling of small lights in the distance.

"Tiny lights," she said, "Like… fires. You can see that?"

She felt him nod.

"And so do they. Rival tribes, probably Farhaseed."

He turned her back to face him, bringing her arm from behind her back and gently massaging her screaming muscles until the ache started to fade and she began to feel that warmth returning to her, and her breath quickened slightly.

"And if you had stayed out here alone one of their scouts could so easily have come and carried you away before even I would have noticed," he said. "You see now why I ask that you obey my commands out in the desert, Melleha?"

She swallowed hard and nodded, beginning to tremble again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Now," he let go of her wrist and stepped away. "Come back to the fire and get some sleep. We have a long day's ride tomorrow."

* * *

"Looks like you had some visitors while you were away," the sarcastic voice shot through him as he looked at the mess that had been left behind in his home. He spun around to find himself face to face with Meela. "Farhas has the girl I take it?"

"No," Adham said softly, ashamed.

"No? Then what--?"

"The Medjai have the girl," he spat. "They attacked the camp, for all I know killed Farhas's entire escort."

"And yet you got away," she asked, equally as sarcastic as she had first spoken.

"I _know _how to choose my fights!" he snapped, finally turning to face the woman that had been the bane of his existence since the beginning of the year. Why he had ever agreed to take her contract he would never know. "And fighting with an angry Medjai is not one I'm willing to take, not even for you. Why do you think I sold my little prize to Farhas?"

"But now he does not have the girl," Meela said, "how do we know that he will keep his side of the bargain?"

"He has the dowry," he spat. "The girl was just an added bonus to him… an unspoiled western virgin for him to play with. He is already enemies with the Medjai and took your money just because you were so willing to give it to him."

He had not wanted to reveal so much and was worried that his client would think she had been taken for a fool by the man she had paid to make it possible for her to get into Hamunaptra, to bring Imhotep out and still remain alive at the end of it.

"Is that a fact?" she said with more than a hint of annoyance. "Well my dear al-Mahdi. It seems like you owe me a lot of money little man."

"I owe you nothing," he answered harshly. "You are a victim of your own greed."

"Fighting talk, Adham," she waved a piece of paper under his nose. "But I own you."

He snatched the piece of paper out of her hand and in growing horror read the confession written on the page. As he looked up from the words on the paper Meela snapped her fingers and two of her men came in, dragging between them one of the two assassins that he had hired to kill the Medjai leader.

"Tell him what you told me," She demanded, holding his bloodied chin between her gloved fingers, "and what you will tell the Medjai or the authorities here in Cairo if I instruct."

"This man… I saw this man…" he stammered his words broken. "He was paying men… paying them to have another man killed."

He sounded terrified and looked as though she had been torturing him for hours to beat his confession out of him.

"You wouldn't dare," Adham said, moving to rip the written confession into confetti.

"Aah," she stopped him with a sharp word and another snap of her fingers, "Wouldn't I?"

He felt the press of a dagger in the small of his back and when she moved aside he found that the injured assassin was no longer held on the ground between her men. He turned his head to look into the bloodied face of the man.

"I believe you know Rossoe," she said.

"He also said," Rossoe pressed the dagger a little as he spoke, perfectly clearly this time, "That there were untold riches waiting at Hamunaptra for the man that cleared the way of Medjai."

"So you see," Meela took the paper from his hand. "I would dare… quite easily… actually."

She waved her arm and Rossoe stepped away from behind Adham, who found himself leaning against the table for support.

"What do you want?" he asked breathlessly.

"You and I are going to pay a visit to an old friend of yours," she purred. "Someone who apparently has quite a lot of history with the Medjai. We're going to convince them to work with us."

"What makes you think they'll agree?" Adham asked, knowing that she was talking about Whisper and his family.

"You better start thinking of a way to _make_ them agree," she told him in a sing song voice, waving the piece of paper like a fan in front of her.

* * *

He leaned against his saddle for support so that he could still watch, and be comfortable at the same time.

In truth his watch was long since over, but he had too many things on his mind to sleep so he kept a watchful gaze over the sleeping camp when his fellow warrior went to take his turn.

She was shivering. Even lying dangerously close to the fire he could almost hear the way her teeth were chattering and the breath came in short puffy little gasps from her lips. He sighed, and softly called out her name.

She jumped, and rolled over to face him. The firelight did strange things to her hair, picking out some strands that were almost the colour of burnished gold amid the brown of its length.

"Taaly Hona," he said and held out a hand in her direction. "Come here."

Almost hesitantly she rose from her bedroll, wrapping the thick blanket around her shoulders as she did, and came cautiously toward him.

"What?" she whispered.

He took a hold of her hand and tugged her downward so that she was sitting between his legs. So close, he realised how very cold she was, and took a moment to tuck the blanket more firmly around her shoulders, crossing it over at the front of her body as he would have done his robe.

She leaned away from him, her eyes showing more uncertainty. He could understand that. He had been somewhat harsh with her earlier, but he couldn't stand to know that she was suffering because of the cold that to him, since he spent so many nights in the desert, was a natural thing.

"For goodness sake, stop fighting me girl," he said, and put both arms around her to pull her back against his chest, to encourage her to curl up against him, sideways on.

"I'm not," she said, her voice on the edge of tears.

"Then let me _do_ this for you. You need to be warm, city girl," he said. Tucking her head under his chin he added, "Sleep. You will be quite safe."

He felt her try to settle against him and he too closed his eyes after wrapping his cloak about them both. There was a mass of confusion inside his head and in the spiralling feelings that had suddenly started to rise inside him.

She was sweet. She was vulnerable. She was rude and annoying. She had the infuriating knack of saying just the right thing at the right moment to have him flying into anger swifter than a striking hawk and yet… at the same time, she could also calm that anger, as she had done earlier, with a look, or a word.

And she was beautiful.

When he had seen her before, on the dune, after her veil had fallen loose in their struggles, she was so very beautiful he had almost wanted to forget their fight, wrap her in his arms and… He shook his head; he should not think such thoughts. The light blue eyes, in the darkness had seemed almost like pools of water, her rounded oval face was smooth and flawless; her cheeks were high and well defined, and her lips, full and ripe… and so inviting.

He took a deep breath to halt his mind once more from the path it was taking, keeping his eyes closed unless he found that she was looking at him. He could not think that way and then walk away from her in the morning when the sun had risen to warm her in his place…

_But then, why fight it…?_ The lone voice inside his head whispered softly. _She is not of the tribes and she is so obviously enamoured of you._

* * *

His breathing was slow and calm beneath her. But pressed so close against his chest, sleep still eluded her, though this time not because of the cold.

She took a deep breath in and his scent wrapped around her as tightly as the blanket or his cloak that shielded them both from the cold. Sandalwood, cinnamon and leather all combined with the hint of jasmine and clean masculine scent to provide a scent that was very heady… almost intoxicating.

Her little hands crept up to cover his, absently stroking the backs of his hands, where she knew there were tattoos. Three sharp prongs – as sharp as the almost painful attraction she felt for the man in that moment.

"Is something wrong?" he asked suddenly.

Her heart lurched and she could not contain the small whimper that crept from her throat. She tried to answer him, to tell him that nothing was wrong, but she felt as though her mouth was full of sand, or the tongue with which she wanted to form the words was not hers. He chuckled softly.

"I startled you. I am sorry," he said.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"No," she felt him shake his head.

"Oh," she answered, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, and flushing with a new wave of embarrassment.

"They are the marks that represent the swift action of the Medjai."

She frowned and looked up at him, confused.

"On my hands," he said in explanation.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

"Intruding," She said and closed her eyes. She felt him shrug lightly before an almost painful silence descended on them.

"You must sleep, soghairi," he said after many long moments. She shivered, understanding only that he had named her his… something… she did not know what.

"I can't sleep," she said, swallowing hard.

"Why not? You are tired."

"I don't know," she lied.

She stiffened as he moved then, turning so that he was facing her a little more, though she was still in his arms, leaning against the saddle.

"If you fall from Amir's horse tomorrow because of fatigue I will be less than pleased," he said seriously.

"I won't," she promised, not wanting to bear his wrath again.

"For it will mean I shall have to carry you in front of me and neither of us will get a moment's peace," he continued seamlessly.

She watched breathlessly, determined that she would not look up at him, as one of his long fingered hands moved toward her face. But it was not just his actions, but his words, and she began to wonder if she had fallen asleep after all and was dreaming.

_His fingers tilted her face up even as she tried to think of something to say and softly his lips brushed against hers. She could never have imagined a firm softness that matched the touch of his lips if she spent all of her life dreaming. His beard tickled softly against her face as he took her lips almost lazily between his own, massaging them gently with the gentle caresses of his own until she softened and opened to him… and then as gently as it had begun, he broke the kiss._

_It felt as though the kiss lasted an eternity and was over in a single heart beat both at the same time, but still, when he eased his lips away from hers, she was slightly out of breath._

_His thumb caressed her cheek as his fingers softly cupped the side of her face and brought her forehead to meet the softness of his lips._

"_Now sleep," he instructed softly. _

_She sighed as he smoothed her hair down her back as she rested her head onto his broad shoulder, still not sure whether the moments that had just happened had been real, or just a dream._

She woke alone, covered with a blanket on the soft sand, her head pillowed on her arm. Sitting up she swept her hand over her face, her fingertips lingering over her lips where she was sure she could still feel the warm pressure that had been a kiss goodnight.

Seeing empty bed rolls she reached for her veil and pulled it up over her face and tears prickled at the back of her eyes as her hand shook. She had woken alone… it must have been a dream.


	7. Decisions

Forbidden Chapter 7 - Decisions 

She thought she would die. She had simply never been so uncomfortable in her entire life. Thirteen days in the same clothes that stuck to her armpits, breasts and belly, unable to freshen herself more than to run a dampened cloth over her body that alternately baked in the daytime and froze at night, as they followed the path of the Nile river, southward, toward its source.

Her legs and back were a mass of fire from being held before different ones of the five Medjai travelling with them each day on their ghastly horses, while longing to be returned to Ardeth's arms. She never was. She felt as though he was avoiding being near to her.

They had passed close to several desert villages, but Ardeth had never once thought to take the slight detour that would have brought them to the village and the promise at least of a softer bed than the shifting sand or the prospect of a better wash than she had so far enjoyed.

Several times she'd had second thoughts about her decision to make a new life among the Medjai, but on each occasion she had soon afterward set her eyes on Ardeth and all of the doubt had flown. He was so in control, so strong and yet, gentle with it… not like Adham who had been wicked and controlling…

_No, the decision is the right one to make._

So Firyal's repeated warnings against her becoming involved with the Medjai leader had fallen on her ears that were deafened by her own thoughts, and the dreamlike image she had of the green oasis where she would become his, and live at his side, as mother to his children.

She had never discovered whether the kiss she so vividly remembered…

_His fingers tilted her face up even as she tried to think of something to say and softly his lips brushed against hers. She could never have imagined a firm softness that matched the touch of his lips if she spent all of her life dreaming. His beard tickled softly against her face as he took her lips almost lazily between his own, massaging them gently with the gentle caresses of his own until she softened and opened to him… and then as gently as it had begun, he broke the kiss._

… had been real or just imagined. She had not even mentioned it to Firyal, whose temper seemed to be growing as bad as her own. Ardeth had not approached her, and nor had he held her again, in spite of the nights being just as cold as they were on the night that he had… or that she thought he had… or imagined…

She sighed. This had to count as the most miserable she had ever been.

* * *

"Ardeth, may we speak?" Sameh moved up beside him for the first time in many days. He had begun to wonder if his friend were ever going to speak to him again after their brief argument when he had approached Sameh to question his intentions toward Firyal.

"Of course, my friend," he answered quietly, reining in to match the pace of Sameh's horse. "What is troubling you?"

"We are approaching Amra," Sameh said, as though it explained everything.

"Yes?" he questioned slowly.

"I have been thinking about what you said," his friend said slowly, "And you are right. I cannot continue my relationship with Firyal in the way we have been."

"I only spoke for your own good, Sameh, you know that." Ardeth reached over to put a friendly hand onto the shoulder of his second in command. "And to protect the reputation of the woman that you love."

"I know," Sameh turned his gaze away from Ardeth's to look at the desert in front of them. "This is why I ask for your permission to marry."

Ardeth smiled. As one of his personal Band of Brothers it was required of Sameh to ask, not that he would ever refuse such a request. It would, however, of necessity remove Sameh from the tight knit group, at least for the first three months of his marriage.

"You have it, Sameh," he said softly, "and more than that – my blessings on your union."

He glanced back at the woman, riding with Ma'mar. He felt a flush of happiness for his friend that was accompanied by an unexplained feeling of loss in his own heart.

"It is a good match, my friend," he said. "Have you asked her?"

"Not directly," Sameh looked down at his hands, Ardeth followed the direction of his gaze. He had seen those hands cleave the life from many a fierce Tuareg warrior – they now shook at the thought of speaking to Firyal of his intentions to take her to wife.

"Do you not think you should?" he asked with a slight laugh.

"I will, when we reach Amra," he said.

"Good then," Ardeth sighed briskly and then took another deep breath to fill his lungs again. "Our friends in the village will be happy for you Sameh, as am I."

"Thank you, Ardeth." Sameh reached across the gap between them and returned the brotherly gesture that he had made earlier. When Sameh lifted his hand away he asked, "May I ask you a question?"

"I know what you are going to ask, Sameh," he said with a sigh. "A wise woman once asked me how I would marry for love, when the woman I marry must be from outside of the Tribes and I could not therefore have met her, or become in the slightest acquainted with her."

"Lamis?" Ardeth nodded, so Sameh continued, "And what was your answer?"

"My answer then, as it is now, was that I do not know. Only that I put trust in Allah to provide an answer to my conundrum." Ardeth turned his gaze toward where Melleha rode with Makki. "Perhaps He has."

"You mean to take the woman as your wife?" Sameh sounded surprised.

"I too have been thinking my friend," he said with a sigh. "And while she infuriates me and clearly has so very much to learn about the ways of the women of our people, you were also right about my attraction to her, and hers to me. What alternative is there? To send to the Tuareg tribes? Allah only knows what kind of match would come from them. Their women are not as ours Sameh – encouraged to share themselves with all they would and bring the experience they gain to their marriage bed. That is not for me."

He sighed again and passed a weary, tattooed hand across his eyes. The Elders would be happy enough to find that he had any match in mind at all. So long as she gave him children, and preferably sons they would be beside themselves.

"This near war with the Farhaseed has warned me how fragile the Medjai truly are without my having an heir… and naming a regent to rule until he comes of age." He turned his eyes back to the path, and to the small speck in the distance that was Amra. "It is the Medjai that I must think on now – and not my own stubborn independence, and while I do not wish to steal your thunder my Brother, I fear I too must make my intentions clear to Melleha and begin her preparation once we reach Amra."

He looked at Sameh, who smiled.

"You will not be stealing my thunder, Sayiidi," he said softly, "rather turning unwanted attention away from us two. Firyal and I do not crave it. The quieter the better for us. In fact, if she agrees, I will likely take her to my bed in Amra."

Ardeth nodded, knowing that his friend was ever one to avoid the limelight. With his intention made plain and with the witnesses among his own Medjai Brothers and the people of Amra, to take Firyal to his bed would be all that was needed to see them made man and wife. He sighed, wishing that it were that simple for him.

"What will you do if she refuses?" Sameh asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"If she refuses," he said slowly, shuddering, "I will have to take my chances with the Tuareg."

* * *

Men, woman and children, some of the youngest children naked and filthy, all surrounded the horses. They reached up to touch the sashes of the Medjai as they entered the small village on the shores of the Nile and welcomed the Medjai as if they were long lost family or close friends, until one of the men, the Head-man, Melleha presumed, still alarmed from the pawing of hands at her legs, uttered a shrill word in Arabic and they scattered like rats.

"Salaamu aleekum, Medjai," the man said in the colloquial dialect of the area.

"Aleekum is-salaam," Ardeth answered, dismounting and exchanging a warrior's hand clasp with the man. He nodded and the other Medjai began dismounting from their horses.

"A'ada," the Medjai she was riding with said, and held up a hand, palm flat to indicate that she should remain where she was. She gripped onto the horse and to the saddle terrified that it would move.

She lost track of the conversation that was taking place between Ardeth and the headman of the village. When she managed to catch a word she recognised, that she could use to reference the others being spoken, she realised that Ardeth was negotiating for them to remain in the village for the rest of the day and the night, and for the women, her and Firyal, to be assisted to bathe and given fresh clothing.

She almost swooned at the thought of being clean and fresh once more. She felt as filth as the children she had seen and wondered that there were not lice and bugs crawling all over her body from so long without proper attention to cleanliness. She shuddered and yelped as the horse moved under her, drawing the attention of more than one Medjai warrior her way.

She blushed and looked down.

"Aasif," she murmured to the Medjai beside her, who reached for the bridle to steady the horse. From the moment she had sent foot inside Adham's house as his ward, she had very quickly learned how to apologise.

"Ma'liss," he responded, reassuring her that it did not matter. She closed her eyes and wished that were not true.

"Are you sleeping, Melleha?" Ardeth's voice from beside her made her jump, and almost fall from the horse until she tightened her grasp once more on its mane. "Forgive me, I startled you again."

"It's all right," she said and opened her eyes. "I was just resting my eyes from the sun. Did you say something?"

"We will remain here until tomorrow," he said. "I have arranged for the women to bring you water and fresh clothes, then I would wish to speak with you."

She looked at his face. The expression, though soft, was serious and made her wish she were a child again in her mother's arms. Her heart knotted and she felt her stomach turn over, wondering what it could be. Perhaps he had changed his mind and meant to leave her here instead of taking her to the Medjai settlement with him.

"All right," she managed to force the words out of her mouth.

"Please do not fear," he said quietly, but did not elaborate on what it might have been. Instead he tugged lightly at the horse's bridal to coax the animal to move forward, and Melleha was forced to hold on for fear of falling.

They stopped outside a tent in the middle of the small village and she almost slipped, but Ardeth placed his strong hands around her middle and lifted her down to the ground. She had not realised how exhausted she was until her feet were under her. That coupled with the touch of Ardeth's hands around her and the bunching muscles of his biceps under her hands and she stumbled, falling against him.

"Siddi heelik," he said to her as he set her back onto her feet. She had no idea what he had just said to her.

"I'm sorry, I don't--" she said.

"I know," he answered. "And it is something that we needs must address, or you will be lost. You need to be strong Melleha, but only for a few days more. We will soon be in al-Dakhla – home."

"Thank you," she said softly, feeling a flush of shyness deepen the sudden blush on her face at the way he said the word, 'home.' "Are you--?"

She gestured toward the door of the tent and he shook his head.

"I may not enter," he explained. "This is the women's tent. They will care for you, you can trust them. They are allies of the Medjai. We trade with them often. Go and enjoy your rest. I will send for you at sunset."

She swallowed back the rushing, almost crushing tide of disappointment that flowed into her at his words. _Send for me_. She realised then it was the Medjai leader that was addressing her now, not Ardeth the man. She wondered if she would ever see Ardeth as the man she so wanted him to be. Another realisation followed hard in the wake of the first. If she were to live with these people, then he was her leader too. She swallowed again.

"Aiwa sayiidi," she said softly and almost tripped in her haste to get away from him in the next moment.

If Ardeth had been intimidating then being inside the women's tent was more so. She was faced with a dozen or so women of varying ages, all unveiled and all looking in her direction as though they had never before seen her like. To be fair most of them probably had not.

One of them, a fairly elderly, matronly looking woman came forward and nattered at her in rapid and heavy Arabic. As the headman had, she spoke in the desert dialect of the language and Melleha hadn't a hope in following what she was saying. What little schooling she possessed in Arabic was Classical, not at all the dialect spoken in the deep deserts of Egypt.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, feeling tears prickling in her eyes. "I don't understand. Ana la afham,"

"Mishfaahima?" The woman frowned and turning, gestured to one of the other, younger women.

"She say you can…" the younger woman said, gesturing to Melleha's face, miming the action of taking down an imaginary veil.

"Here only womans and we friends all. I Abia."

It was even difficult to follow the translation that the Abia was trying to provide, so broken was the English she spoke, but at least she was trying.

"Thank you, Abia," she sighed. "Shukran."

Abia smiled and took her hand as she unfastened her veil to lead her further into the tent. The old woman followed behind, speaking quickly to the other women who set about bringing the cauldrons to the many hearths and tipping water into them from nearby buckets.

Melleha found herself pulled down onto a small stool, while the old woman and Abia fussed around her, removing her head covering altogether and beginning to shake out the braids from her hair, chattering to each other all the while.

"Please," Melleha interrupted as they combed their fingers through her hair to take out the tangles. "What are you saying?"

"Hair colour very beautiful," Abia said. "Eyes also."

"Thank you," she said, blushing.

The old woman said something to her in Arabic. She recognised the word for heart, but beyond that she had no clue. She turned to Abia for help.

"She said you will win many hearts," Firyal's voice from the doorway translated before the other woman could open her mouth. As soon as she was inside, Firyal took down her veil and the other women greeted her cheerfully.

"Firyal, thank goodness," Melleha said softly, "I'm a bit stuck here without you."

"You seemed to be doing all right," Firyal said. Then she turned her attention to the old woman and exchanged a few words with her. The old woman was evidently delighted and rushed across the room to draw her to Melleha's side.

"You on the other hand look as pale as I do," she said as Firyal got close enough to see. "What's the matter?"

"Sameh," she answered, "wants me as his wife."

"Firyal that--" Melleha fought for words. At her long time friend's admission she felt a pang of bitterness go through her, jealousy perhaps that she had not been swept off her feet by the man she desired. That he had not even look softly on her since the night he'd found her standing on top of the dunes, and then had wrapped her in his cloak to keep her warm. "That's wonderful. Aren't you happy?"

"Of course I am," Firyal answered. "He's a wonderful man, but--"

"But what?" Melleha pushed her friend playfully at the shoulder. "If I were in your position I would be overjoyed. What _is_ the problem?"

"When you are older you will understand," Firyal said dryly and shook off her head-dress to let the women comb out her hair.

"So when will you marry?" Melleha rolled her eyes. _When you are older indeed_. She hated when people did that. As if, just because she was only twenty years old she didn't know anything about the ways of the world.

"We want it to be quiet," Firyal answered, "I will go to him tonight."

"Tonight?" Melleha frowned in confusion and then in sudden understanding blushed and continued. "Oh. I see no ceremony."

"There will be," Firyal said. "But only brief. We do not want a fuss."

"I'm happy for you," Melleha threw her arms around her friend and gave her a hug, hiding her face against her friend's shoulder so none would see the tears that had formed in her eyes.

By the time sunset came painful embarrassment had wiped away her tears. She had been undressed and bathed by strangers, dressed by strangers, all of them watching to see if her pale skin would get any paler as they washed away the dust of almost two weeks in the sand.

They had smoothed fine oils onto her body and into her hair with hands that felt rough and weathered against the virginal soft skin of her stomach, back, breasts, legs and arms. She had to admit though, once they had draped her in the dark silk that covered her delicately, and yet completely, that she loved the scent of whatever it was they had used.

"What oil?" she asked, pointing at the jar.

"Zeet eeh?" Firyal provided her with a translation and on receiving the answer told her, "Desert Rose."

She found herself idly wondering if Ardeth would like the scent….

Ardeth… there was a thought that threw her back into a state of churning confusion. She would have probably leaped out of the seat to catch her leaping heart if one of the women hadn't been braiding her hair as befit an unmarried woman.

As if her thoughts of him had conjured him out of nowhere, a polite cough from outside the door of the tent had the women scurrying for the shadows. Abia fixed her veil in place and went to see who was at the door of the tent and what he wanted.

"It is Ardeth," Firyal whispered to Melleha as the conversation filtered through, "He has sent for us to go to him."

* * *

Ardeth was pacing the floor of the guest tent that had been assigned to Melleha like a caged beast until Sameh called his name lightly.

"Ardeth, sit down," he said, "Pacing will not bring them here any the sooner."

"I know, my friend," he sat down at last. Almost throwing himself against the cushion. "I am just concerned."

"You are bound to be apprehensive," Sameh laughed and handed Ardeth a beaker of sweet water than had been provided for them. "You are about to propose to your wife."

"Thank you," Ardeth answered, entirely without humour, "for that reminder!"

"Any time, my friend," Sameh teased and laughed harder when Ardeth fixed him with a stern expression.

"One of these days that sense of humour of yours is going to get you killed," he warned.

"You and what army?" Sameh shot back.

Ardeth couldn't help smiling. His friend was happy, as well he should be. Firyal had agreed to his proposal of marriage and by morning he would be beginning his life as a married man, with a wife to care for, and who would care for him. He sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again Sameh was looking at him in concern.

"Do you doubt your decision, Ardeth?"

"Yes… No," he answered, after thinking for man long moment. He thought of all the times he had been returned to the Tribes injured or near death. He thought of each and every time a woman of the Tribes had made her feelings for him plain, and each and every time he had refused. He thought about the O'Connells, married now and with a child of their own – or so their telegram had said. And he thought of Melleha, and the unfocussed, dreamy look he all too often saw in her eyes. "Only of her readiness to accept the burden of becoming wife to the First Medjai without truly understanding the implications."

"I would call that a doubt," Sameh said.

"A concern, not a doubt," he argued softly.

"And will you come to love her, do you think?"

He sighed as Sameh asked him the one question he had expected, but had not wanted to hear. She was beautiful. He felt the attraction between them, and that alone was enough to carry him through for a while, but what then? Would that deepen? Could he feel more than debt and concern for her? He sighed again… that would always be a question with whichever woman he chose as his wife, except…

He stopped himself from even thinking her name and answered, "I do not know. Only time can answer that question."

He was prevented from saying anything more by the arrival of Bashir, who he had sent to bring the women to him.

"The ladies, my Lord," Bashir held aside the door for them to enter.

He swallowed as he stood up to greet the women and first set eyes on Melleha. Silks of a dark, smoky colour, like coffee, that emphasised the brown and gold colour of her hair floated around her body, which he could now see was more shapely than he had first thought. Her eyes had been outlined in the traditional way and it somehow served to make them seem more like pools of cool clear water than ever. The blush that spread beneath her veil when he met her eyes began to heat his blood in a way more suited for Cairo's many Casbahs than a village on the Nile floodplain, only four days ride from the place of his birth.

"Ladies," he greeted them, virtually growling the word. He swept his hand at the cushions near by the low table on which was set light refreshments. The sweet water, and the dates that had been provided by their hosts.

"Firyal, may I offer my congratulations on your forthcoming marriage," he began.

"You are too kind, Sayiidi," she replied.

"I have asked you here so that you as your future husband may witness what I am about to say, and you may help Melleha to reach a decision that will be right and proper for her." he told her, and then turned his attention to Melleha.

She almost shrank back under his gaze this time, and he realised he was scowling and tried to soften his expression.

"Melleha, please forgive me, I do not mean to frighten you," he said. "I asked you to come here because there is something I wish to ask of you."

* * *

She trembled in her seat. Even though his voice was soft, and he had tried to let a kindness enter his eyes, he still looked stern and serious. She still wondered what on earth he was going to say to her that required witnesses to be present.

"Please go on," she somehow managed to breathe the words, though she felt as though she had been holding her breath for so long that she might be suffocating.

"I…" he sighed. "Melleha, when I have asked you this question, I do not wish for you to answer right away. I will leave you to think on it, and please… do not think you will offend me if you decide cannot agree to that which I will ask of you. You will not, and nor will I treat you any differently if you answer no."

Melleha felt a knot tightening in her heart. Her stomach began to dance and roll as she imagined what it was he was about to ask her. _Think about it?_ She did not need to think. If he were about to ask her to marry him then her answer would be yes – no matter what doubts he might think she had. She did not – she would gladly agree to be his wife. The knot tightened still further. What if she were wrong? What if her first thought was right and he was going to ask her to stay here and not come with him after all?

"Ardeth?" she dared to ask no longer able to stand the suspense.

"When we return to al-Dakhla will you allow me to protect you and to provide for you as your husband?" He moistened his lips. "Will you agree to be my wife?"

Melleha stopped breathing and tears sprang to her eyes. She had hoped… dreamed… even prayed at times along the journey that he would take her as his wife, would ask her this question, but now that the moment actually came, she realised that all the dreaming and fantasising had been to avoid the expected disappointment.

"You… erm, I…" she stuttered.

"Please," he held up his hand, "Do not answer me now. Think on the matter, talk to Firyal. _Listen_ to her counsel and then decide. This is your dwelling for the evening. I think that all of your needs have been provided for. I will return in the morning to hear what you have decided."

"Erm… all right." She swallowed hard, her stomach still dancing a ceilidh. He wanted her to be his wife. A relief almost religiously profound swept through her. He wasn't sending her way. Her vision of life at his side, bearing his children… she swallowed again. Bearing his children…

_When you are older you will understand._

She glanced at Firyal and saw her face was schooled into a neutral expression, but she could tell from the way the muscle at the side of her eye was jumping that she was waiting to explode.

"We will leave you now," Ardeth said and stood.

She felt the urge to stand with him, so forced herself to her feet, and onto her legs that trembled so hard she thought he must be able to see her shaking. She walked to the door to show him out and trembled harder still when he took her hand and raised the back of it to his lips.

"Until tomorrow," he murmured and then quietly left the tent. She watched him walking across the small clearing to the tent she knew belonged to him, and duck inside. Trying not to listen to the sounds being made behind her as Firyal and Sameh bid each other a temporary farewell. Sameh passed her moments later with a respectful nod.

Suddenly the excitement that she should have felt moments before burst over her like a soap bubble. It sent little tingles up and down her spine and turned her already shaking legs into water that rippled and wavered under her. She gripped one of the poles that kept the tent erect for support and surrendered to the rising feelings.

"Oh Firyal--" she turned toward her former maid and almost rushed across the room to grab her hands.

"No!" Firyal snatched her hands away, "Melleha no! Absolutely not."

"Firya--"

"Have you forgotten so soon how but a month ago you said that you were not ready to marry. And that you refused to let _any_ man have mastery of your body." She pushed Melleha down onto the cushions. "Has so much changed in so short a time?"

"It isn't like that."

"Oh it is exactly like that, Melleha," she continued relentlessly. "Life under Ardeth would be _nothing_ like you expect it to be, and believe me when I tell you that is exactly where you will spend your life… _under_ him, on your back, giving him children. You will have less freedom than you would have even had with Farhas."

"That's not true," Melleha whined, and felt more tears threatening to spill onto her face. "You're exaggerating."

"Am I?" Firyal snapped unkindly. "As First Medjai his duty is to his people, Melleha, and first to provide them with an heir to lead after he is gone."

"It is _any_ wife's duty to give her husband an heir," Melleha countered tearfully. "Even you, as Sameh's wife will be expected to do that."

"I am _not _the one who has fantasies about some life of romance with her mysterious desert warrior come to sweep her off her feet."

"And _neither_ am I!" Melleha cried. "I may not know the whole truth of it as you do, but I know enough to know that I love him."

"Oh _spare _me!" Firyal interrupted. "You do not _know_ him. How can you love him? You merely have some dream in your head about life with him that you woven around yourself to blind you to the realities that you have seen and chosen to ignore because you do not like them."

"I don't."

"You do!" Firyal grabbed her by the arms and shook her slightly. "He told you to listen to my counsel Melleha so hear me now. He is a _warrior_. He kills and will often return to you covered in the blood of those whose lives he has taken in pursuit of his sworn duties. He will return injured and you will be the one to care for him. He will be gone for weeks, sometimes _months_ at a time and you will have no word of if he lives or if he has died… and when he returns, he will be hungry for your body and the solace he can find there.

"Any sons you give to him, he will take them from the softness you will show them and will teach them to kill also… will teach them the ways and the sacred duty of the Medjai." Firyal spoke quietly, imperatively. "Your life will be one of service, if not to him, then to _his_ vows as if they were your own. You will be expected to behave as the wife of a Medjai, and teach your daughters to do the same."

"It isn't like that," Melleha wept, "You're exaggerating, trying to dissuade me--"

"Yes!" Firyal said. "To dissuade you, yes. Exaggerating, no."

"If it's so bad, then why are you marrying Sameh?" Melleha finally yelled, pulling away from Firyal's grasp and then falling to lie curled up against the cushions, all but covering her ears against the cruel words she expected from her friend.

"Because they are my people, my flower." Firyal said softly, moving so that she could stroke her fingers over her brow. "Because I am commanded to return to my people by my First Medjai for my own protection, and I do not wish to spend my life always alone. And because I am attracted to Sameh and will not allow him to use me as my father used my mother."

"Firyal, what about love?" Melleha started shaking under her touch. "You must at least _hope_ that one day you will love him, and he you. Aren't you happy to be marrying him?"

"I hope, one day, perhaps," Firyal said shyly.

"I don't want to be alone either," she said quietly. "Ardeth has offered me a life of safety."

"Whatever your decision, he will honour that." Firyal interrupted. "Whatever I might say about the Medjai, they keep to their word and Ardeth did say you should not think to offend him if you refuse."

"But I don't want to refuse," she said. "I lo-- like him and he must at least like me or he would not have asked."

"He wants you only for what you can give to him, Melleha, do not make that mistake." Firyal's voice turned hard again.

"What do you have against Ardeth, Firyal?" she demanded, pushing her friend's hands away and sitting up.

"Nothing," Firyal answered, "nothing specific. I just do not think that he is the man for you. You are fooling yourself if you think so. He has duties and responsibilities that you cannot even begin to fathom and you are _not_ the kind of woman that would fare well with the life of a Medjai. I do not say all of this to be cruel, Melleha, but you would be much better to tell Ardeth that you have changed your mind about coming with us, and get him to put you on a boat back to Cairo."

"I'm not going back, Firyal," she said. "My father--"

"You are so angry at your father that you would throw your life away like this?" Firyal took hold of one of her arms and started shaking her again. "You think that life as the wife of the First Medjai will be all romance and--"

"Then tell me!" she finally snapped. "Instead of telling me what it is not, tell me what it _is!"_

"All right," Firyal sighed, "I had hoped to spare you this, but since you are so stubborn and pig headed that you will not hear me…

"If you answer him tomorrow that you will wed with him, from that moment on you will feel more the prisoner than you ever did with Adham. You will have to cover yourself completely, so that no one will see you. When you get back to the settlement you will be examined to make sure you are pure." Melleha squirmed in her place at the thought of that, but gave Firyal a look to tell her to go on. "If not--"

"I am!" she almost leaped up indignantly.

"I know that," Firyal said, "but they do not. And you wanted to know what will come.

"If not," she continued. "Then they will wait until you have bled before you may be wed, to ensure that any child of your union with him was truly conceived by him."

"That's ridiculous," Melleha snapped, "I don't believe you. That kind of thing went out with the ark. Next you'll be telling me they hang the bed sheet over the battlement wall, or whatever the Medjai equivalent is, to prove that the marriage was consummated."

"Believe me, Melleha. The Medjai are an ancient people with ancient customs--"

"They're Islamic!" She could have throttled Firyal in that moment. "Why else would they go on about Allah all the time, they--"

"…Are caught between cultures; Islam and their own. Believe when I tell you that they have their own customs which have never appeared in the Koran and have more akin to ancient Egyptian practices than anything else." She sighed. "They are descended from the bodyguards of the ancient Pharaohs."

"They… they…!" Melleha fussed, "You keep saying "they" but _you_ are one of them Firyal, by your own words, and yet you sit here still trying to tell me how awful it will be to be a part of that. Shall I tell you what _I_ see when I look on the Medjai?

"I see a race of people, struggling to survive in a hostile land that has all but forgotten them. You say they are descended from the ancient Pharaohs' bodyguards – they carry that nobility and honour with them still. You say they are slaves to their duty, well then I say that duty must be something extremely important.

"And you, who will, by the time the Morning Star appears in the sky, be wife to a Medjai warrior, have done nothing but speak ill of them."

"I do not speak ill of them, I speak the truth of them… and the truth of you. You are too soft to be Ardeth's wife and I am afraid that the attempting of it will kill you," Firyal said quietly.

"Will he beat me if I speak a wrong word to him? Will he forbid me have an opinion of my own? Will he sell me to the highest bidder to obtain what he wants from them?"

"You know he will not." The other woman looked down.

"Then giving him the odd child or two seems little cost for a life of safety and companionship, where I still believe there is the possibility, even the promise of love," she said.

"You have already made up your mind then?" Firyal asked, looking into Melleha's eyes.

"I have." She smiled sadly at her long time friend. "And I wish you would be happy for me."

"You have much to learn, Melleha. Remember all that I have told you and that I spoke only as your friend, as one who cares for you very much," Firyal smiled back and grasped her arm. "I will pray for you, my flower."

* * *

If there was one thing she had learned in the last thirteen days it was that sound carried a long way over the stillness of the desert at night. She heard the revelry, as the people of the village and the Medjai shared their friendship. She heard the steps of those finding their weary way to their beds, and then her ears picked up another sound.

It was a soft cry.

She turned over quickly in the bed, throwing off the blanket and reaching for her clothes with her heart pounding and her ears straining to pick up any further sound. And then she stopped, and blushed a fierce hot shade when she heard the continuing sounds and realised what they were, the light moan that was carried on the desert breeze toward her ears.

She lay back and pulled the blankets once more around her, pressing her arm over her head to try and stop herself from listening to the almost hypnotic rhythmic sound. Slowly she drifted into a light sleep.

"_Firyal told me terrible things about you," she breathed against his shoulder as he gathered her close._

"_Not so terrible I hope that you have second thoughts about this moment, about our life together," he murmured._

_She felt his lips press against her neck and the thrill, like a buzz of electricity go through her from where he kissed her, to kindle a warm, swollen feeling between her legs that somehow stole her breath and left her needing to feel him closer than he was._

_His hand brushed across her belly and she felt a tightness in her breast as her nipple hardened and then shivered when his touch moved up to cup her breast in the warmth of his hand, to lift the curving mound to the consuming caress of his mouth against that risen nub._

_She let out a soft moan as his tongue flicked against her, sending spiralling sensation all through her body, and almost of its own volition her back arched so that she keep the fleet touch in contact with her flesh._

_A swirling dizziness settled over her, and she fought to follow the trail of caresses his hand made as he released her beast and skimmed the circling fingers of his tattooed hand downward, over her stomach, and sides._

_He raised her leg, she felt the draught against her centre, like a cooling breath as the blankets lifted, and then gasped a soft cry as his long fingers followed nature's breath onto her centre, sliding through moisture to circle against another risen nub, hidden in the gentle folds of her body._

_He kissed her then, his tongue pressing deep into her mouth. As passions moved his body over hers, his weight, solid and hot against her skin pressed her back against the cushioned bed and his legs nudged her further apart._

_She felt something nudge against her, in that place his fingers had touched and then he moved, pressing against her and beginning to move inside. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but the pain was short lived, wiped away by the tingling warmth that spread more quickly from the point of their joining to leaden her limbs in a deliciously languid sensation. She felt as though she were swimming and drowning at the same time, becoming breathless as the tightness began, spreading outward from where he was moving inside her, overtaking her so that she could no longer feel anything but the warmth of him, and of her own tightened muscles…_

With a wordless, breathless cry, Melleha woke. She felt as though she had a fever, as though her body belonged to someone else and she felt as though every single muscle had knotted at the same time.

She started trembling, afraid that she was somehow sick.

In panic she jumped out of bed and threw back the blankets, thinking perhaps a scorpion had crawled into her bed and had stung her. Then she frantically checked all of her body that she could see, checking for punctures, wounds that had not been there before. Finding nothing she flopped down onto the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted. She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over herself again.

Fine then, a fever… something she had eaten gone bad and made her sick.

A fresh bolt of panic rushed through her, this one leaving her feeling tearful and shaking again, she sat up. Ardeth's question… and he would want an answer.

She blushed scarlet from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as she suddenly remembered her dream, and what had woken her… and why she was feeling so tense and on edge.

She made a sudden grab for the blanket as the door of the tent opened and Abia entered carrying a small steaming bowl of water and fresh clothes.

"Water for wash, and clothe for wear," she said.

"Shukran," Melleha said absently.

"Afwan," the woman moved closer to her. "I help."

"Oh, no, no… that's all right," Melleha tried to shoo her away, but she would not be shooed.

"Medjai chief, he say me 'help,'" she said. "I help."

Melleha was caught. If Ardeth had sent the youngster then she supposed she should at least try and play the part of the wife that she was about to tell him she would become and not fight with the assistance he had sent to her. She still found herself wishing that Firyal were there.

* * *

Celia moaned, but couldn't get up, couldn't even move as Francis came toward her. She just closed her eyes and prayed. She felt as though every nerve in her body were on fire, every bone ached and if she moved, her body screamed for ease in much the same way a badly rusted wheel would scream for oil.

"Celia, for goodness sake woman stop larking around and get up this minute!" he snapped at her.

She tried to open her mouth to answer him, but even her jaw ached. She moaned instead, closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable blow…

"No bloody good to me like this…" the last thing she heard before she lost consciousness.

* * *

She had picked at her breakfast, barely sipped the tea that they had given her, she was so very nervous that she worried she would not keep anything down. She could have answered him when he had asked the question without a problem, without hesitation. In the cold light of the following day, after sleep and dreams it suddenly seemed an altogether different prospect.

She was no less determined to follow her dream, however – of the green oasis, and a life in his arms, raising his children – just that this morning she was so much more nervous about the whole thing.

She wanted to see Firyal; no… she needed to see her. Firyal had always been her strength and comfort. The one thing that had kept her going through all of the things she had faced in her twenty short years. Perhaps that was the difference… that she no longer had her friend at her side… and that Firyal so clearly opposed her becoming Ardeth's wife.

Always protective, why so much so in this instance? She had no doubt that what Firyal had said would have a grain of truth to it, but was also equally sure that her friend had exaggerated to try and frighten her out of taking the notion of a life with Ardeth and making it real.

She jumped when his voice sounded from outside the door, then rose to her feet before inviting him in. The moment of no return… she smoothed down her new silk gown of deep blue; the sirwal she wore beneath caressed her legs as it fell into place. Finally she pulled her veil into place across her face and invited him inside.

"Good morning," he said softly.

She smiled shyly, hoping he would see the smile in her eyes, and then she swallowed hard as two of his warriors entered with him to stand one each side of the door. Amir stood behind him, just at his left shoulder. He carried a small bundle, which she could not properly see.

"Are you well rested?" he asked.

"I am, thank you," she said, finding her voice at last, though it sounded small even to her ears when faced with such a deputation.

Then silence fell. She was sure he was waiting for her to speak but couldn't find the words to start and tell him that she accepted his proposal. The whole thing was so formal, so alien to her culture, where a man would lower himself to a single knee and would expect the answer right away. Perhaps that was why should could have answered him the night before.

"So, ya soghairi?" she swallowed again as he finally broke the silence. She did not know what name he had called her, but it warmed her to hear the way he phrased the name, using the possessive ending. That much she remembered from the Arabic lessons that Adham had insisted she take… only now she wished she remembered so much more that just that.

"Did you think on my question?" he asked again, and she blushed, realising she had been so caught up in what he had said that she had not yet give him her answer.

"I have… Ardeth," she said hesitantly. "And my answer is yes."

"Yes?" he queried.

She tried to remember the way he had phrased the question the night before, to phrase the answer in a way that would address each of things he had said.

"Yes," she said slowly, "I will gladly accept your protection, allow you to provide for me, and to take me as your wife when we are returned to your home."

She heard the tremor in her voice that matched the way her heart was beating so irregularly as she spoke the words. He seemed suddenly huge before her, fierce and intimidating, even more important now than when she had been trying to win him for herself.

"Give me your hands."

His voice was soft, but a command none the less. She shook shamefully as she raised her tiny hands to slip them into his fingers. He pressed them again his strong chest, and she felt the soft rumble of his voice and the beat of his heart as he spoke quietly in Arabic.

She wished she could understand what he was saying for as did, the three men with him turned their back on the two of them, Amir first laying the bundle on the nearby low table.

When he finished speaking he raised her hands to kiss the back of her knuckles and lowered his head in a slight bow over their joined hands before releasing her, to stand bewildered before him.

"There is much for you to learn in the coming weeks, ya nafisahi," he said, "I will help you all I can."

"Thank you," she whispered. She felt like a small child seeing the world for the first time, and strangely felt tears prickling behind her eyes. She tried to blink them away. "What must I do now?"

He turned to take something from the bundle on the table. It was a long black and silver cloak, similar in form to an Abbaya but somehow as different as anything could be. It felt heavier too. She stood quite still as he solemnly fastened it around her shoulders and drew up the hood and veil. It was undeniably a beautiful garment, but she felt she would die in the stifling heat beneath all that fabric.

"Medjai culture has many traditions and customs. This is one that has endured since the time of the Pharaohs – that none but the lady's chosen female companion may see the bride of the First Medjai until he had truly made her as his own." He chuckled slightly. "Not even the First Medjai himself. I know you would chose Firyal, but that cannot be, since she is newly wed and must remain with her husband through nine weeks. With your permission I will ask my cousin Zhadina to attend you once we reach Al-Dakhra. She is young, but it is past time she assumed some responsibility."

"I would be honoured," she said tremulously from within her darkened world.

"She will like you," he continued. "Do not be nervous. She is a kind and clever girl."

"I'm sure," she answered. "Is there anything else?"

"Please heed this one command I give you, Melleha – I do not with to have to kill any of my men. You no doubt understand that we were recently at war with our enemies, the Farhaseed. There were many causalities and the Medjai need all of our warriors." She shuddered as he named the Farhaseed his enemies. "The hand of no warrior but I must come near to touching you. No other man, do you understand?"

"I understand," she felt the tear that rolled over her cheek as Firyal's warning of the night before came to mind… _From that moment on you will feel more the prisoner than you ever did with Adham._

"It must seem overwhelming for you," he said, taking her hand again, from under her cloak. "I can ask only your forgiveness for that. Take heart that it is only for a short time."

She held her breath as he kissed the back of her hand lightly. The tent shifted slightly to the right as the light buzzing in her head took over from everything else for a moment. He was not understating when he said that she had much to learn. She had _everything _to learn and as he let go of her hand once more, she wished she had listened to Firyal.

"I will come for you shortly," he said. "And in four days we shall be home."

* * *

When she woke, the first thing that Celia did was scream at the black robed figure kneeling beside her. The face that looked at her had strange markings painted in blue on his face. His brown eyes were hard and fierce, and she tried to shrink away, turning her head away from the hand that came toward her lips.

Then she screamed again as her eyes met those of one of her fiancé's diggers, glassy in death, the red of his blood still seeping from the gash across the front of his throat.

"Please… no!" she begged the figure over her, squeezing her eyes closed and digging her fingers into the sand, ignoring the pain all her movement was causing.

Fingers… strong fingers gripped her chin and turned her head back up to meet his frightening appearance, before something cool dripped between her lips. Thirsty beyond reason she lapped up the precious water, no longer fighting the man – realising somewhere in the back of her mind that he was helping her.

"I wheel not hurrrrrm you," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper, and so very thickly accented that it took her reeling mind several moments to realise what he had said.

"Who…" she pushed his hand away and saw the same blue colour flash before her eyes from a blurred shape on the back of his hand, "are you?"

"One who helps you," he said. "My name is Da'ud."

"Da'ud?" she echoed.

"Aiwa… yes." He slipped his hand behind her shoulders. "You must sit. We must leave."

"Did you…" she grasped the sleeves of his robes as he helped her to sit up, holding on tightly as the desert started spinning before her. "Did you kill him?"

His eyes hardened and she let go, trying to shrink away, only having to grasp for him against in the next moment.

"You do not remember?" he asked instead of answering his question. "We have been watching you."

_We?_

She wondered who he meant, but then remember the dark figures on the hill.

"I don't--" she breathed, taking in the appearance of the man now that her vision was beginning to clear.

"You are sick," he said. "From the heat… you fell from your camel. This man began--"

She had a sudden memory, of hot fetid breath against her as the digger had tried to kiss her… had touched her and then…

"You saved me," she reached out a hand toward the man in front of her. He turned her hand aside before she touched his face. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "In the desert, the Medjai are the law."

He said it as though it would explain everything.

"Medjai?" she asked.

"I am Medjai," he said again as though it was all the explanation she should need. Then he pressed a small beaker into her hand, and held it with her, to bring it to her lips. "Drink, not talk. Where were you going, Lady?"

"O'Connell," she said as he pulled the beaker from her lips, preventing her from drinking as much as she wanted.

"The O'Connells are in Egypt?" he said. "Where?"

"Karnak," she tried to reach for the beaker again, but he moved it aside. "Da'ud, please."

"Laa," he said. "You will be sick. I will take you to Karnak. Can you stand?"

"I don't know, I--" she tried to get her feel under her, but succeeded only in slumping against him, and apologising in embarrassment.

"Wait," he said, and for a moment went away. He returned with the camel, made strange sounds and spoke in Arabic to the beast until it lowered itself to its knees. He tied the two horses to the camel's saddle and then picked her up, apparently without effort, although she flung her arms around his neck at suddenly being lifted from the ground. He spoke to her in the same soft, almost whisper, "You are safe."

The camel lurched to its feet… she remembered little else for a very long time.

* * *

"Dad!" Alex came charging back into the temple ruins as if the hounds of hell were on his tale and Rick looked up, alarmed at the tone in his young son's voice. "There's someone coming, Dad!"

He caught the six year old by the shoulders and stopped him from kicking up any more sand.

"What?" he asked.

"Someone coming," Alex repeated, pointing back the way he had come. "I saw them from the top of the dune."

"Show me," he instructed, leading his son back out into the sun. He felt a knot forming in his stomach that he couldn't explain and began to wonder if the Medjai guarded Karnak in the way they did Hamunaptra.

"Up here, look," Alex continued excited.

He grabbed Alex by the back of his pants, dragging him back down the dune as the youngster started up again.

"Stay here," he instructed, racing up the dune on all fours.

"Dad, it's all right, it's just one person," Alex said grumpily.

As soon as he got to the top of the dune with his spyglass he saw his son was right, in fact he just got the camel in his sights when the figure on top slipped from the saddle and fell to the sand. The camel and the horse tied to it came to a stop. Quickly he scanned all around for signs of anyone else, but saw no one.

Cautiously he made his way to the fallen figure, where the feeling of foreboding doubled as he recognised her at once, as Celia. He picked her up and ran back to their camp.

"Alex, go get your mother," he said to his son.

Within minutes, both Evy and Jonathan were at his side.

"Oh my--" Evy gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Oh my God, Celia!" Jonathan threw himself to his knees beside the woman, and Rick looked up at him.

"Anyone read Arabic?" he asked seriously and held up a small piece of paper.

Jonathan snatched it from his fingers and looked at the small flowing script on the scrap of paper.

"Evy?" he asked, waving it at her, but she shook her head.

"Oh for goodness sake," Rick snapped and called to one of the natives in the temple. "What does this say?"

"She is heat sick," the man read and translated, "but unharmed. We are watching."

The last sentence made Rick stand up and turn through a full three hundred and sixty degrees, somehow expecting to see a group of dark figures on the nearby hills. He saw nothing but the featureless desert.


	8. Expectation

Forbidden Chapter 8 – Expectation 

She moaned and turned her head against the soft pillow. Every time she did, and made that sound his heart started racing faster and he worried that she would become worse, and not recover. He wished she would wake up so that he could look into her eyes and tell her that everything was all right now.

Jonathan sighed and gently stroked her hair, still damp from where Evy had washed it in cold water. Through it all Celia had remained oblivious… unconscious and delirious from the heat.

"Da'ud," she moaned.

"No… Celia," he leaned down to whisper to her. "It's all right. It's me… Jonathan."

"Medjai," she breathed.

"Yes, the Medjai brought you here. You're safe." He stroked his fingers down her soft, pale cheek. He almost jumped back in shock when her eyes snapped open.

"Jonathan!" she struggled to sit up until she obviously realised how little she was wearing and clutched the blanket around her. "What are you doing here?"

"Celia, thank God!" he exclaimed, too worried about her to answer her question he just threw his arms around her and held her close. In fact he held her so close that it wasn't until she started frantically pulling at his shirt that he realised her was smothering her.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly as he let go, then looked away a little and cleared his throat pointing at the blanket, which had slipped to reveal a little too much skin.

"Oh erm…" She pulled the woollen cover over her once more and said softly, "Perhaps my clothes?"

"Yes, yes of course," he got up, still somewhat embarrassed by his outburst and went to retrieve her clothes from where Evy had left them.

"You didn't answer my question," she said.

He turned his back as she took the clothes from him and started to dress. Trying his hardest to slow his breathing as he suddenly remembered the sight of the beautiful curve of her breast that had shown as the blanket slipped. He remembered the feel of it, trapped and pressed against his chest and suddenly found himself wanting more.

"And," he squeaked and cleared his throat, "Um… which question was that then?"

"What are you doing here?" she said. "You can turn round now, I'm decent."

"Actually it's rather me that should be asking _you_ that question," he answered, turning slowly to find her still fastening the top few buttons on her shirt. He sighed, such a shame to cover such a sweet body as that in the dull khaki colour that she wore.

"Jonathan?"

"Hmmm?"

"I asked you what you meant," she blushed, obviously noticing the direction of his gaze, still firmly fixed on her breasts.

"Oh well, just that you're in Karnak. You were kind of dumped on our doorstep actually," he explained. "By the Medjai we think."

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed suddenly grabbing his arm. "I remember now."

"Good then maybe you can explain it to us," Rick said as he entered, then giving him a withering look answered, "I hope you gave the lady privacy to dress."

"I turned my back!" he answered indignantly, meaning to say more until Celia pressed a gentle touch against his shoulder.

"He was the perfect gentleman, Mr O'Connell," she answered, moving away from Jonathan's side and leaving him feeling suddenly cold. "As for explanations… I got sick and Francis thought that it would be better if I came to you, since you're that much closer to Luxor."

"So he sent you here alone?" Rick asked, sounding as incredulous as Jonathan felt in that moment.

"No," Celia answered quietly, looking down. "He sent me with one of his…"

As she wavered, he moved, but Rick was quicker and closer, and steered her toward a nearby chest so that she could sit.

"Hey," the American said softly, "Don't go overdoing it. You were real sick you know?"

"I'm frightfully sorry," Celia said sheepishly.

Rick threw a look over his shoulder at Jonathan, and mouthed that he should get some water for Celia. He fussed and faffed over the task, not sure why he didn't think of it himself before coming back to her side with a half filled beaker. She accepted it from his hand with quiet words of thanks.

"It was just such a dreadful business. The man he sent me with attacked me, and… well I rather think that Medjai fellow saved me. Killed the man but--"

"Sounds like the Medjai all right." Rick answered, throwing another concerned expression his way.

"But you are… all right…" Jonathan asked when Rick didn't continue. "He didn't… I mean, you don't need me to go and fetch Evy to--"

"No, no," she said. "I'm fine… I'm sure."

Both he and Rick let out a sigh of relief that was short lived when she added, "I think."

* * *

One day closer to his home. Hidden in her shrouding robes, that thought made her shiver. Perhaps it was anticipation; perhaps it was the cold touch of reality, finally getting through to her.

She shrugged it off. She wanted this. She had wanted it since the moment she laid eyes on him. Why then did it feel so…

"Melleha?" She had not even registered that he had dismounted from behind her until he called her name and reached up for her.

"Sorry," she put her hands on his shoulders and let him lift her down. She shivered again, this time from the way his muscles felt, firm and warm under her hands, and bunching as he lifted her down.

A sudden thought crossed her mind as she risked a brief caress against his shoulder only to have him remove her hand, quite pointedly.

"Does it still trouble you?" she asked.

"No," he answered.

"Then--"

"You should not," he said softly, and releasing her instructed, "Come."

Fighting back tears she followed him toward the fire that was being laid. Not seemly? They were going to be married for goodness sake. Must she keep her hands off him entirely until then?

"You may rest here until I have the shelter built," he said, indicating a spot close by the fire, before going about the business of building a temporary home for her.

She found her gaze wandering among the assembled Medjai, looking for her friend and her new husband. She found them at the other side of the fire, sitting close, but not so close that they were touching… and yet the way that Firyal looked at him – was clear that she had more feeling for the man than she had confessed. And yet again, her mind came back to how they were sitting… slightly apart, with only their eyes communicating their affection. She shrugged again, dismissing it.

She sighed. The sun was starting to set and that meant the cold was coming… she was starting to hate the desert nights, hoping perhaps they would get better once she could share them… truly share with Ardeth. She closed her eyes.

_She smiled as his warmth settled behind her and he wrapped his arms around her, his hand pressed against her stomach, swelling with new life._

"_Are you cold, my heart?" he asked softly, his beard tickling at the side of his neck and his light kiss pressing against her ear._

"_With you and the baby to keep me warm?" she pressed herself further back into his body, spooning with him as he arms tightened gently. "How could I be?"_

_He chuckled then, a delicious warm sound in her ear. "Then why are you shivering?" he asked._

"Melleha?" Firyal's voice made her eyes snap open. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she answered, blushing, though no one could see it. "I was almost sleeping. I am more tired than I thought."

"May I sit with you?"

"Of course?" Melleha's answer held a note of question. "Why would you not?"

"Because when we last spoke I…" she sighed, "I was horrible."

"Oh Firyal," Melleha took her hand and drew her down to sit in the sand beside her. "I don't want us to fight, I need your friendship."

"You know you have it, Melleha, whatever happens." Firyal smiled beneath her sheer veil.

"I'm smiling back, you know," she said and felt her friend squeeze her arm through the fabric she wore. "You look tired."

"I am," Firyal answered. She blushed. "I did not have much sleep last night."

Melleha blushed too, understanding what had kept Firyal awake. She might, in other circumstances, have teased her friend and told her that the whole settlement had heard her love play, but then she remembered the soft cry that had begun it.

"May I ask you something personal?" she said before she could stop the words. When Firyal nodded she asked, "Did it hurt very much?"

"Are you worried about yourself and Ardeth?" the other woman did not answer the question, but asked her one instead.

"A little bit," she confessed hesitantly. "I had a dream once--"

"You have too many dreams," her friend said in a low tone of disapproval.

"No, Firyal, please listen." When she sighed, Melleha continued, "In the dream it was… it was my wedding night."

"With Ardeth, no doubt," Firyal said sarcastically.

"Please--"

"Go on," she said.

"And it hurt at first… and I've heard other women say it's true. The women at Adham's house--"

"Talked too much," Firyal sighed. "Melleha, I cannot tell you what it will be like for you, because for each woman it is different and based on many things. Likely there will be _some_ pain, there was for me… but how much I cannot say. The only advice I can give you is to relax as much as you can and trust your husband to know how to treat you gently."

"You told me the truth didn't you?" she said suddenly, soft and mournful. "About all this..? About the Medjai?"

"Melleha now is not the time to be thinking about that," Firyal said quickly. "You're to be his wife… perhaps the love you dream of will come. I can't say. I don't know him, but you told him yes, and now, my flower, you have to live with that."

* * *

"You summoned us together Ardeth, and with great expedition," the head of the Elder's Council sounded somewhat put out, and inwardly he smiled.

"Forgive me Honoured Fathers, but I hope, when you hear what it is I have to say, you will forgive my rudeness." He dipped a respectful bow and joined them in the circle that marked their council.

"For goodness sake, boy, speak up," Hussein, the eldest of the twelve, and hard of hearing, snapped in irritation.

"Speak then, First Medjai," another instructed.

"Thank you," he said. "I will not waste words, Honoured Fathers, but seek your blessing to wed with the woman I have chosen to be me wife."

"Who is she, my son?" Ardeth closed his eyes and sighed as the voice of his uncle washed over him. So like his father's had been that even now – ten years after his death – it made his heart ache with loss.

"She is a gentle woman, Uncle," he answered, knowing that he had to tell the truth, but that likely the tribal elders, though they might be delighted to hear he would finally wed, would not like to hear the details of the woman in question. "English. The daughter of one of the Western settlers, but abandoned by her father to al-Mahdi of il-quahira--"

"Let me understand you, young Bay," Aban, another of the older members of the Council interrupted. "You want our blessing, for you… born of our Noble Line… to wed with a woman little better than a fatherless orphan? A woman of whose origins you clearly know next to nothing."

"Honoured Fathers," Ardeth held up his hand to bid them give him time to speak. "I do understand how it might seem a ridiculous notion to you, but you must know this… she saved my life, at great risk to her own."

"And for that we are grateful, Ardeth," the head of the council said. "But really, marriage?"

"Yes," he said.

"You surprise-- No, I am astounded." He got up and paced toward Ardeth, who rose out of respect. "Always before you have resisted out suggestions toward marrying."

"Because you always sought to ally me with the arrogant daughter of some self styled desert Prince," Ardeth answered.

"Ardeth," his uncle said. "Always before you have insisted to us that when you married it would be for the sake of love. What then, do you love this woman?"

Ardeth sighed deeply.

"I am attracted to her, certainly and I do," he fought to find a way to express the feelings he _did_ have, "care about her wellbeing, her comfort--"

"But not love?"

A woman's face, and accompanying feeling swam up to greet him as he closed his eyes, and breathed deeply for a moment… expressive brown eyes, a gentle face with long lashes…

"No," he said regretfully, pulling up his warrior's mask to stifle the sudden rush of sadness.

"Then what has changed, young Bay?" Aban asked.

"Nothing has changed," he said firmly. "I remain First Medjai, as was my father before me and as will be my son's and grandson's after. And in fulfilment of that promise I needs must marry."

He heard his uncle sigh, but did not pause in his explanation.

"I have made my choice, Honoured Fathers," he said. "And I _will_ marry with this girl and if you will not give me your blessing, then I will do so without. It is long past time and the Tribes need me to honour my vows as First Medjai and secure their future."

He turned on his heels and walked swiftly toward the door to the tent. As his hand reached out to pull back the door, his uncle's soft voice stopped him.

"Ardeth… do you think you could _come_ to love her?"

He turned and met his uncle's eyes, his expression clearly showing his uncertainty.

"Perhaps," was all he said.

* * *

A few feet away from the entrance to the tent he began pacing as he waited for them to make their decision. He had spoken boldly. What he had said could almost have been a threat – that he would wed with or without their consent, but the truth was that he would feel much better doing so with. He sighed.

"Ardeth!" A light, high and excited voice broke his tension and he turned in time to catch the dark green clad shape that almost few at him. "You're home!"

"Zhadina," he eased her back to arm's length and held her until she stilled. "When _will_ you grow out of these childish ways? You are a young woman now, and young women of the Medjai do not _throw themselves_ at returning warriors."

"But you are my cousin," she pouted beneath her veil and it showed in her eyes. "And you have been away for so long."

He sighed, and then gave her a slight smile. "I am pleased to see you too, Tumbleweed."

That made her smile and she stopped struggling against his restraint. He let her go and looked over her head at the settlement, trying to gain a measure of what he saw, expecting at any moment she would interrupt his thoughts again. He was a little surprised when she did not.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"How do you know _it_ is anything," she asked him, and then turned away.

"Because you are my--" he stopped as he realised her shoulders were shaking, she was weeping. "Zhadina Bay, look at me this minute and tell me what is wrong."

She turned slowly, looking ashamed as she did. He dipped his head to capture her eyes, to make her look at him and his heart turned in an uneasy knot. He had seen her agitated, afraid… ridiculously happy… excited… it was why he called her Tumbleweed after all, since her mood was always rolling like the plant across the open desert. But ashamed, and weeping in the open… never.

"I do not wish to leave the Medjai," she whispered. "Please--"

"What do you mean?" He frowned, totally confused.

"Father has been approached--"

"Zhadina!" she jumped as his uncle's voice came from the doorway of the tent. "I told you not to bother your cousin with this."

"Only because you know as I do what--"

"Do not answer back, girl!"

"Or you'll what? Beat--"

"Enough!" Ardeth raised his voice to silence his family. They obeyed at once. Sometimes being First Medjai had its advantages. "Sajid, tell me what this is about?"

"Ramaha of the Canishad in Syria has sent word that he wishes for the marriage of his son with Zhadina," Sajid answered, and right away Ardeth could see that the man was as happy with the idea as was Zhadina.

"And have you agreed?" he asked, ignoring the sudden renewed sob that burst from Zhadina's lips.

"It is a good match, Ardeth. It will provide us with strong allies at a time when we most need them and open access to a territory that provides a safe retreat from the Farhaseed should it come to open warfare," his uncle answered.

"Then you have?" he asked.

"Ardeth, no--" Zhadina wept.

"No yet, but I mean to," Sajid answered and nodded toward his daughter. "Hence the hysterics."

"I agree," Ardeth nodded. "The alliance is a good one--"

"First Medjai, I beg of you--!" Zhadina interrupted and he caught her wrists smoothly when she flew at him again, pulling at the edges of his robes. If he had not been holding her wrist she would have fallen to her knees, he knew, from the sudden additional weight pulling on his wrists.

"…But not for Zhadina," he concluded. "And you have not thought this through. You are my father's eldest brother, and she your eldest daughter. Any son of hers would be in line as First Medjai, if I were not to produce an heir, since my sisters have only daughters."

"But that would not happen, Ardeth," his uncle laughed uneasily. "Since the Council of Elders has agreed to your request."

"No," Ardeth commanded. "Especially now, we cannot take that risk. You must send your apologies and instruct Ramaha that her duties do not permit her marriage outside of First Tribe."

Zhadina somehow got her legs under her again and laid her head against his chest, relief now causing the tears to fall from her eyes.

"Duties, Ardeth?" Sajid acquiesced with a respectful inclining of his head in Ardeth's direction and he thought he saw relief in his uncle's eyes.

"My betrothed has asked that a woman of my family attend her as _Haad, _and at once I thought of Zhadina."

"I am honoured, nephew," Sajid said breathlessly. "But only one? Surely as First Medjai you should select a number of women to attend your bride."

"I do not wish for her to be overwhelmed," Ardeth explained. "There is much to which she must adjust."

"Even so," his uncle argued, "the Elders will not be happy unless she is _guarded in at least the four directions._"

He used the wording of the traditional protocol for the marriage of First Medjai, drawing a sigh from Ardeth as he realised that any hope he had of skipping any of the formalities had been lost when he pushed the Elders. He sighed.

"Whom would you suggest, uncle?"

"Maryam… she is the daughter of Nasim, a solid and trustworthy young woman," he watched his uncle's face as he thought through the woman of the First Tribe.

Sajid was record keeper for the Medjai, so if anyone, he would know the most suitable women to serve Melleha as her _Haad_, the women that would be the boundary – the meaning of the word – between her and harm.

"Cala… she is Aban's granddaughter, and is to be made a healer once her training is complete. The experience will be good for her, as well as useful for your betrothed. Besides which, you would be wise to have him on your side."

Ardeth nodded in agreement to the two so far selected for him.

"Thurayya… daughter of Saqr, who was your father's Second and Inas… She was the betrothed of Dabir, who died last spring as you recall." Ardeth nodded, a sorry business, the fever that swept through the Tribes and threatened many, even the strongest warriors. Dabir had been one of the few that had lost their lives even as the healers strove to keep them from doing so.

"Perhaps it will give her back some purpose," he agreed. "Very well, have them all come to me in an hour, we leave in two."

"Yes, First Medjai," his uncle bowed and went about his appointed task.

"Ardeth… thank you," Zhadina breathed as her father left.

"Zhadina, listen to me and listen well," he cupped her chin in his hands, letting go of her wrists, though still she held his robes. "Your father is right. You should not come running to me with your every problem. Favoured cousin, perhaps, but daughter of the Medjai, and of the line of Bay certainly. You will perform this duty for my betrothed and you will do it well, because by summer you _will_ be wife to one of my warriors. It is the way of these things. Use this opportunity to mature and use it wisely."

"You are angry with me," she said sadly.

"I entrust you with a duty I would give no other," he answered. "Melleha is not of the Medjai and there is much she must learn. Perhaps in teaching her, you will understand better yourself."

* * *

Melleha squinted against the sun to see the tall rocks looming in the distance. She had felt more than a little lost since Ardeth had ridden off alone earlier that morning. Not sure what she might do, or say, only sure that she should not make contact with any of the men left to guard her.

"Come and sit down, Melleha," Firyal appeared beside her and handed her a bowl of broth. "Watching for him will not make him return any faster."

She followed her friend back to the centre of the camp.

"What will happen when he gets back?" she asked, almost fearfully. She was beginning to feel a little sick.

"I am not sure," Firyal put a hand onto her shoulder. "You forget, I did not grow up among the Medjai."

"But you knew enough to tell me about this," she indicated herself with a hand that trembled.

"Only because of a tale my father once told me," the other woman said.

"He will return with your _Haad_," Sameh's voice made both women jump as he came to sit with his new wife. "If I know the Elders there will be a number of women that form it and not just his cousin as he has told you."

"Shukran, _ya goozi_," Firyal said quietly.

Melleha blushed as he picked up Firyal's hand and gently kissed the back of it, but found she could not take her eyes off them, fascinated by the restraint. He spoke softly to her friend in Arabic that she did not understand and Firyal blushed beneath the sheer, soft veil she wore. Then he looked up in Melleha's direction once more.

"He will place you in their care, and you would be wise to listen to their counsel. They will dress as you, and accompany you wherever you go. If you wish, and if you trust their judgement, one of them may speak for you… undoubtedly Zhadina will need to translate as few within the settlement speak English."

Melleha felt tears prickling behind her eyes. It was all so overwhelming. Why couldn't she just go home with Ardeth and the two of them marry as Sameh and Firyal had done?

"Why…?" she forced the words from her lips, "must I have them?"

"For your protection, My Lady," he inclined his head respectfully. It was the first tine anyone had done this, and it astonished her. She leaned heavily against the firm sand beneath her, gripping it to prove reality. "No doubt Ardeth has told you that the Medjai are an ancient people. We have many traditions that have endured since the time of the Pharaohs. This is one. The betrothed of the First Medjai was always considered a target by his enemies. As his wife she would have her own escort of warriors, as will you, but until that time, the best way to ensure her safety was by anonymity. In providing a number of women, all identically dressed, short of murdering them all, an enemy would fail."

Melleha shivered at the tale, images of Ancient Egypt flashing through her eyes, with proud men guarding an even more proud Pharaoh, and jealously guarded women, shrouded in mystery.

"I see," she said softly, picking up her bowl of broth again and trying to find some way to eat without removing her shrouding clothes.

* * *

"Jonathan, thank you," Celia leaned her head against his arm as they walked through the hotel garden, safely back in Luxor. "This evening has been wonderful. Are you sure your sister won't mind you not helping at the dig?"

"Oh, I think she'll manage without me," he smiled, stopping the two of them beneath a spreading palm. "Probably glad to be rid of me actually."

"Don't say that," she said and she reached up her hand to brush a light caress against his cheek. She smiled when he closed his eyes and nuzzled at her hand.

He was so very different to Francis… gentle… patient… and she loved him, which she knew without a doubt she would never feel for her fiancé. After a moment he picked up both her hands in his and drew her closer, until she felt his arms slide around her.

"I promise you, Celia… everything will be all right and then we can be together and…"

"Ssshhh," she leaned her head against his chest.

"Sweetheart, look at me," he said and hesitantly she looked up into his beautiful eyes. "You do believe me, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Jonathan," she whispered. "I'm just afraid of what might happen in the mean time."

"Nothing will happen," he promised. "Celia, will you…?"

When he did not continue she asked, "Will I…?"

"Never mind," he shook his head and looked a little sad. "How about a picnic? Tomorrow, I know a wonderfully quiet little spot on the banks of the Nile nearby. We could go there late in the afternoon, so that it's not too hot, and watch the sun set together."

"I'd like that," she said softly, still wondering what he had been about to ask her before. Should she push and make him tell her? What if he wanted to make her his, as Francis had threatened… her heart leaped at the idea, and her body answered with a flush of warmth that made her shiver. Jonathan eased her closer.

"Are you cold, my heart?"

"No," she answered. "Not in your arms."

When his head began to dip toward hers, she almost ducked away, but he called her name softly and looking up at him, she felt her lips taken softly under his. He was gentle, patient, his kiss coaxing her to open to him, before the soft wet touch of his tongue made her knees weaken and she grasped him for support, pulling him closer still as he swept the inside of her mouth with its soft caresses.

"Jonathan…" she breathed, weakened and trembling as the kiss broke.

"I love you Celia," he whispered. "I love you so much."

* * *

She remembered now why she hated camels. The rocking motion aggravated her already churning stomach and the smell made her feel as though she were riding the most filthy beasts imaginable and yet, as Ardeth had explained to her, she had no choice. What would be the point in shrouding five other women beside her if she rode in with him on his horse? Since the First Medjai was the only man permitted to touch her, it would be a bit of a give away.

As the tall rocks, beyond which she was told lay al-Dakhla got nearer and nearer, her nervousness increased. What would she find, beyond their shielding edifice? Would they prove to be a protection or a prison for her? And would these women, whom she had not yet properly met, be friends to her or foe?

"Do not worry," a light, high voice beside her said, almost as though the speaker had read her mind. "You will _love_ our settlement."

"You speak English?" It was an absurd question, but it was such a comfort to her. "Are you Zhadina?"

"Yes," the other woman giggled. "Don't worry, you'll meet us soon, and I can promise you, we are all most curious to see what woman has captured the heart of our beloved First Medjai. This is an honour, my Lady."

"Oh no," Melleha said, "Please just call me Melleha – that is my name."

"Are you sure?" Zhadina sounded a little doubtful.

"Yes, completely," she answered. "I hope we can be friends, Zhadina, because I confess, I feel very lost right now."

"Do not worry," she repeated. "You will love your new home, and Ardeth will keep you safe."

They rode in silence and Melleha watched the cliffs, the tall rocks getting taller and taller, looming large… a symbol of her future. As they passed into the shade between them, the slightest glimmer of greenness beyond caught her attention. It did nothing, though, to stave off the sudden chill of apprehension that went through her. She bit her lip to keep the sting of tears from her eyes.

Soon though, they were through the narrow neck of rock and the sight of the oasis made her gasp loudly and in spite of knowing that she should not, she lifted her veils a little to peep out.

Ahead, Ardeth held up his hand and everyone stopped.

"Al-Dakhla," he said, nodding toward the settlement nestled in all parts of the Oasis. "Welcome to your new home."

"Thank you," she answered, for a moment, truly overwhelmed.

She had no idea what she had been expecting, but it was not what she saw before her. From their vantage point on the higher ground she could see a bustling village – no not a village, but a town – in the bowl of the Oasis below. It radiated outward from a large central space that seemed like a natural arena. Several large structures dominated the edge of that space and beyond those, what looked like dwellings… many, many, dwellings. She had expected tents, and though there were a lot, they were not the fragile things she had seen so often in the desert, but larger, semi-permanent looking structures. Around those, to her surprise, the Medjai had built houses – real houses – though clearly not made out of stone and not as large as the houses in Cairo, or in other cities.

The large bowl, that seemed to stretch for miles, was surrounded on three sides by the same rocky edifice through which they had entered and the fourth stretched out to the blinding yellow of the desert beyond, a long way in the distance. Toward the rock walls, horse corals had been built, and stables and animal pens with accompanying dwellings for the families that kept and bred them.

On the right of the view was the Oasis itself. Clear blue water, obviously fresh and deep glinted through the green of trees, and other plants that surrounded it, some obviously cultivated and tended.

"My God, it's beautiful! It's huge!" she gasped at last. "There must be thousands of people here?"

"Yes," he answered softly. "Come."

She watched as he turned his horse's head to lead the animal down the slope toward the floor of the basin, sitting back in the saddle as he did. She dropped the veil again as they began to move after him.

As they reached the floor of the oasis, she noticed the smaller dwellings, in little clusters that she hadn't been able to see from on the heights. Tears came to her eyes, when she thought about it… all nestled here, and all protected, she was sure, by sentries that would no doubt be hidden in the rocks above.

Faces gazed up at the party as they passed through the "streets" of the settlement. Men, women and children all stopping to stare at her, young and old alike. Younger girls played together, unveiled, in the street and boys fought with sticks instead of swords until they were called away by mothers, no doubt insisting they complete their chores, but as one they turned and stared in their direction as they passed, and called out welcome to their First Medjai.

Ardeth lead their party through the winding streets toward the central arena she had seen before where he stopped his horse and dismounted. Young men, dressed as Medjai, but with no tattoos came quickly forward to take the horses, and assist in getting the unruly camels to lower themselves to their knees before… one by one, Ardeth began to assist the women down as his warriors stood guard in the space around.

Melleha watched, almost tempted to dismount by herself in a flare of bloody-minded independence, but then she remembered that everything was done as it was to protect her identity and maintain her safety, and she waited for him to hold out his hand to her.

"Go to the others," he said softly and she obeyed, hearing him dismissing the boys with the animals. The women nestled around her as Ardeth went into the huge tent before them.

"This is where our tribal elders hold council," Zhadina whispered to her. "He has gone to tell them you are here."

Melleha turned a nervous gaze on the doorway of the tent, expecting to see some wizened old men follow Ardeth out at any minute. When the doorway opened again just one man, and not terribly old at that, followed Ardeth into the late afternoon sun. _So Elder is a term of respect and not of age,_ she thought.

The man came to Ardeth's side and faced the small group in which she stood. He spoke in Arabic, quietly but surely. Beside her Zhadina translated softly.

"On behalf of the Council of Elders of the First Tribe of the Medjai I welcome you to al-Dakhla. I am Aban Hassan al-Haddad. For tonight, rest, please… and in the morning we can begin the preparations."

Melleha tried to think of something to say, when into the silence one of the other women spoke in soft Arabic. Her eyes met Ardeth's, and found him looking at her with perhaps the hint of a smile on his face. _So he at least can tell which one I am, _she thought.

* * *

"Melleha." A gentle hand shook her shoulder. "It is time to wake."

She moaned softly and then rolled over to find Zhadina smiling at her cheerfully. She felt as though she had been travelling for a lifetime, and now the sleep on so soft and comfortable a bed as they had given her, seemed too short indeed.

"Already?" she yawned.

"Yes," Zhadina giggled. "There is much to do this morning before it can be decided when the wedding will take place."

"Oh?"

"You must see the healers."

"But I'm not sick," Melleha's heart fell toward her feet as she remembered what Firyal had told her. Her face followed her heart.

"There are things they need to know," Zhadina said and she reached out to touch her face softly. "I know it's embarrassing to answer such personal questions about yourself. And for them to know so much, but it is for your own safety too…"

"Yeah, like how?" Melleha, still tired, felt tears coming to her eyes.

"Oh dear, Melleha, do not weep." Zhadina took her hands. "They are women and they will not hurt you. I promise."

"Can they not take my word?" she whispered. "Firyal… Firyal knows, I…"

"We will be there with you, and Cala is training to be a healer… I'm sure she…."

"That's not the point." A huge tear found its way onto Melleha's face. "There's never been a man in my life, and anyway if there had I don't see what business it is of anyone's except me…"

"I'm afraid where the line of the First Medjai is concerned it _is_ their business," Zhadina said. "But I promise you… no pain… They will barely even touch you. Come on, get out of bed."

Melleha shivered, somewhat doubting that, but threw back the bedclothes anyway and sat up.

"Where can I wash?" she asked already feeling embarrassed in spite of how friendly she felt toward Zhadina.

"There is water there, in the bowl," Zhadina pointed to a small basin of water near the door. "After we have been to the healers, we will go to the bath-house. You will feel better then."

The water was tepid, but it helped to wake her up. Her eyelids felt so heavy, and her mind still fuzzy from sleep. Zhadina helped her to dress, and then the two of them went to break their fast with the others in the main room of the guest house.

* * *

She hesitated in the doorway, and but for the women behind her might have bolted. The healer in the room was middle aged, perhaps the same age as her mother. She had a soft face and kind eyes, beside one of which, against her temple a small blue sign was tattooed, lines and circles, like a snake with a curving tale. It didn't matter; none of the kind appearance mattered in the face of what she knew would happen.

Zhadina's hand landed in the small of her back to move her forward and she yelped and bit her lip.

The room was warm, and smelled of fresh jasmine that, Zhadina told her as she tried to get her to calm down, grew in the oasis. There was also a strong smell of mint that she thought was probably from the tea that was waiting on a low table to one side of the room.

It was to that table that the healer directed her with a smile and a gentle wave of her hand. She did not move, so the woman spoke softly to Zhadina and the others, though Melleha didn't understand a word she knew it must be about her. Then the woman reached and took her cold hands into the warmth of her own and led her into the room, fully and completely.

"Come, sit… You can take off the Haad," she said, her voice heavy with the accent of the Medjai and Melleha blinked, not sure she had heard her correctly. Zhadina closed the door, a heavy drape that covered the woven doorway and joined them at the low table. The others remained outside. "We will have tea."

"Thank you," Melleha reached upward and removed the heavy garments from her head and shoulders, glad of a moment's reprieve even though her stomach was in knots.

"You understand why this must be, my child?" the healer asked softly. "You seem afraid."

"No," Melleha answered far too quickly.

"Not comfortable then." The healer smiled. "I can assure you I will not hurt you."

"So everyone keeps telling me," she snapped and this time failed to beat back tears that flooded her eyes but would not fall. "But where I come from a woman is not examined to make sure she has her maidenhead intact – a man takes her word for it."

"But you are not marrying a man, my dear one," Try though she might, Melleha could not pull her gaze away from the healer's uncompromising stare. "You are marrying a People, and they do not."

Her bottom lip trembled with her unshed tears to hear it so plainly put. She began to shake again, wondering if there were some honourable way she could back out of the arrangement.

"_You're to be his wife… perhaps the love you dream of will come. I can't say. I don't know him, but you told him yes, and now, my flower, you have to live with that."_

Firyal's words echoed in her mind and only served to increase her trembling. She felt suddenly cold and picked up the small cup in one hand, hoping the mint would help to settle her stomach. She almost screamed when the healer's warm hand settled over her own free hand, still on table top.

"Besides," the woman said gently. "That is not the only reason you are here. While you remain at al-Kharga, I will be your healer. I hope we can get to know each other, so that when I come to deliver your children things will not be so awkward between us."

"Are you Ardeth's healer too?" Melleha heard herself ask the question, but didn't understand why that would matter to her.

"On occasion," she answered. "Speaking of which, I must congratulate you on a good job."

"Excuse me?" Melleha frowned.

"When I tended to him last night, he told me that you saved his life," the healer explained. "Removed arrows that had pierced his body, and began his journey toward healing."

"Is he sick?" She felt a flush of panic go through her body, adding to her discomfort.

"No, no…" the healer said, "Rest easy my dear. It was just routine. He is quiet well. But _we_ needs must talk, you and I."

As they sipped the tea, the healer asked her questions about her childhood – about the illnesses she had suffered through her life, the injuries that had befallen her. Everything from the smallest scratch to the broken rib she had suffered whilst falling from a tree two years before her father moved the family to Egypt… Beyond that Melleha began to leave things out and did not tell of the many injuries she had suffered at the hands of Adham, until, inevitably, the conversation returned matters associated with her marriage to Ardeth.

"And your bleeding? Does it come always evenly spaced?" the woman asked her. Melleha blushed.

"Almost always," she answered. "Sometimes there is a day or two's difference, but not much. It should come in a few days time, as a matter of fact."

"A few days?"

"Four days." Melleha said tensely after some thought.

"That's good," the healer said. "Please, Melleha, be at ease with me. I need to see you now. There is a blanket on the cot over there. Undress and cover yourself with it. Do you need your Haad to assist you?"

"I _can_ manage to undress myself."

Melleha bit her lip. She had not meant to be rude, but the thought of undressing before the stranger… and try as she might, she could not think of the woman in the way she would have the doctor that used to visit her from time to time as al-Mahdi's home, took all of her fear and wove it into a huge knot of tension that settled in her muscles. _He never touched you in the way this woman will._

Painfully slowly, facing away from Zhadina and the healer, she started to undress, aware of the soft conversation that continued behind her in Arabic, which she supposed meant they were not even looking in her direction.

She was so distressed that she forgot completely about the scars that lined her back until Zhadina's soft gasp was followed by the healer's sharp command.

"Kreff!"

Melleha froze, then holding the dress she had just removed against her naked breasts she turned to face the woman as she rose from her place at the low table. The healer closed her hands around her bare arms and turned her again.

"Who did this?" She began a series of gentle touches over the recently healed scars. "And why did you not mention it before?"

Melleha twisted away from her, and almost felt onto the cot in her haste to get away.

"Please, don't tell him…" she whimpered.

"My child, he has eyes… He will see." The healed reached for her against and sat her firmly on the side of the cot. Sitting behind Melleha, she once more began a gentle examination. "My concern is for you at this time. Now please, who did this and when?"

"Adham al-Mahdi," she said. "He would beat me for the slightest thing. This… was because I defied him and would not agree to the marriage he had chosen for me."

"I do not need to know why. I need to know when."

"I… erm…" she fought with her memory, with her emotions, everything making her feel more and more nauseous. "The day before Ardeth was hurt. Four weeks, five…?"

"The pain is gone?" the healer asked.

"Yes," Melleha turned when the woman released her. "I'm sorry I just…"

"You must learn to trust me, my child." The Medjai healer sighed. "I will give your Haad something to rub into your skin. It will help to reduce the scarring."

"Thank you," she said, in spite of the biting apprehension that still crawled over her skin and through the muscles of her stomach and chest.

"Now, please…" the healer indicated the sirwal she still wore. "We have delayed enough."

Melleha watched her as she moved away, making no move to rise until Zhadina caught her eye. Unable to put off the moment any longer, she stood and loosened the fastenings on the garment and stepped out of it. She shivered as the Jasmine scented air pooled around her naked body before almost dashing for the cot, and the blanket there, that she might cover what little modesty she had left… _for the moment._

"Try to relax, and not to fight me," the woman came from where she had retreated to wash her hands, still drying them on a square of linen. "I _do_ understand your embarrassment."

"I doubt that," Melleha said.

She bit her lip when the healer sat on the side of the bed once more and gently touched her leg. Looking over at Zhadina rather than meet the healer's eyes, she saw that the young woman had turned to face the wall.

"Lift your knees." the healer raised the bottom of the blanket to her stomach, and – her heart knotting tight enough to be almost painful – Melleha blushed hotter than she could ever remember and bit her lip as the soft, warm hands pushed against her knees, to part them as she did as she was bidden.

She whimpered as the fingers made contact with the shielding folds of her body, untouched save by her own hand when she washed, and spread to allow the stranger greater access to her body's secrets.

When the healer reached forward with her other hand, Melleha jumped even before the contact came against her tenderness.

"No," she whispered and tensed as the intrusion began.

"Aiwa, ilaa'a," the healer crooned gently.

The touch did not recede. Melleha gripped the blankets beneath her and whined. It was not a painful sensation, rather one that was uncomfortable, that sent as prickling sensation, a low buzzing feeling, spread from the touch, but it was the personal nature of the thing that made her sob aloud.

"Please…"

And then it was gone, her knees were pushed down and the blanket pulled down to cover her again.

"There now." The voice of the healer, still calm and soft released the torrent of emotion, and the single sob became the flood of tears she had so far held back. "It is done. I will tell our First Medjai that he is free to marry the woman of his heart. Rest now. I will return with the ointment for your back."

Melleha barely heard her words… just threw her arm across her eyes and wept.

* * *

"Thank you, Blessed Lady, we will send out the summons at once, three weeks is little enough time to gather the commanders." The Elder bowed respectfully to the healer.

"That is not my concern, Honoured Father's, First Medjai," she said.

Ardeth smiled inwardly at her response to the Council, though his face remained impassive. She had brought the news before them that his betrothed was a suitable woman and had told them when would be the optimum time for the ceremony of marriage to be performed.

"I merely report my findings as you have asked of me." Then she caught his eye, and he knew without a doubt there was more she had not said.

When she excused herself from the Elder's tent he followed her a few moment's later into her healer's quarters.

"You will need every tenderness with her, Ardeth. She is physically very small," she told him without turning. Even so he nodded. "Did you know she has been beaten?"

He sighed, a memory coming to him, his hand, sticky with blood that was not his own.

"I knew that," he narrowed his eyes.

"More than once," she told him turning to face him. "There are scars from injuries I put to be more than five years old."

"Are they Serious?" he asked. "Where?"

"Over her back only… and enough that she wept when she feared I would tell you," the healer said. "She is ashamed. She is tense and though she will not admit it, she is afraid. You will need _every _tenderness with her."

* * *

The messenger burst into the tent almost before it was decent for him to do so. The urgency made Lamis jump to her feet and wring her hands as her father read the message and then dismissed the man.

Her heart pounded as he turned to her and she saw the gentle expression on his face. A hundred thoughts flashed through her brain, but all returned to one horrifying thought.

"Ardeth…" she gasped, gripping her father's hand even as he reached for her. "What has happened? Where is he? Please tell me he didn't…"

Each question was more breathless, each on brought her heart closer to her throat in fear…

"Lamis… peace," her father said softly, but none the less he took her hands. "Ardeth is well; he has safely reached al-Dakhla,"

"Then…?" she frowned in confusion.

"Daughter, sit," her father brought her to the cushions. "And hear me. I know this will be difficult for you, but, in truth, you cannot tell me that you did not know this day would come."

"What…?" Another hundred thoughts flew round her head like wasps, and she mentally swatted them all, but her heart had already begun the journey toward the ground as her stomach twisted into knots, releasing pain through the whole of her system. "…does it say?"

"Lamis… I am sorry." Her father said softly, meeting her eyes. "Ardeth is to marry."

"When…" she gasped the words, her breathlessness voicing the pain.

"We are summoned at once to al-Dakhla," he caressed her hand gently, easing her closer.

"Who?" the same distressed tone of hopelessness infused the word.

She had known, since he had told her he was twelfth-year born that he would not be free to marry with her, but she had hoped… and it was a hope she had held through some of the most hopeless of recent moments… that they may have found some way past that to share some tenderness, some intimacy…

The moment hope dies is never an easy one. She felt everything she was drain away to nothing, to cold emptiness inside her. She shook her head, refusing to give in to the dying of hope that told her that her relationship with Ardeth wouldnever be. Even then, his words to her echoed through the gaping cavern of her heart.

"_You know me better than any other woman in the twelve tribes, because you are your father's daughter, and so you know that when I marry, it will be for love."_

"Oh… father!" she sobbed, and did not fight him as he eased her into his arms and rocked her gently and she broke her heart weeping.


	9. Moments

Forbidden Chapter 9 – Moments 

He had quite simply never been so frustrated in the whole of his life. The last few days had been a nightmare of it. The picnic he had planned for Celia hadn't happened because a man in Francis's employ had arrived to see her and that had meant that he had to stay away, or visit in the evenings only with his sister for a few short hours. He was being forced to work long and hard on a dig for which he had no interest and then he had spent two days searching in vain for any sign of the Medjai that were supposedly watching.

"Maybe I should just ride out to Hamunaptra," he mumbled to himself as he trotted up the steps into the hotel. "I'd find them then."

He sighed. He felt that he had failed her somehow… failed to protect Celia when she most needed him. It would only be a matter of time before Francis would come to drag her back, to tear her out of his life. He was quite sure it would kill both him and Celia if that were to happen.

He stopped walking and looked back at the car, and the picnic basket there. He had never loved anyone like this before… the realisation finally sank through to his brain in that moment and stole his breath and the strength from his legs. He sat down on the steps and moaned softly.

"Sir, are you all right?" the voice of the concierge registered in amongst his thoughts and he looked up.

"What? Yes…" he said absently. "I was just thinking."

He heard the man move away, still sat with his head cradled in his hands. Francis's man had left the day before to give his report to the man no doubt that his little woman was okay… was quite safe. _But she's not YOUR little woman… she's mine…_

And then he continued thinking that actually if the truth was told she _belonged_ to nobody. He had learned from his sister that a woman belonged only to herself and it was entirely her choice to whom she gave her attentions. It was only society… careless, cruel society that branded a woman the property of a man. Her father… her brother… her husband…

_And she has chosen me…_

With a lighter heart he stood and continued his journey up to collect Celia. He _was_ going to take her for the picnic. They _would_ watch the sun set over the desert together and he intended to make the moments they shared the most memorable that he could.

* * *

They watched the small band of Medjai as they set up camp for the night from behind the shelter of the nearby dune. 

Loch-nah didn't know why they bothered to hide, he knew that the Medjai were aware they were being followed and had been all along, but it made Wahid feel better and kept the assassin quiet, and for that he was pleased.

He sighed. He would be glad when the task had ended. Each day they followed the black clad Warriors mean another day of danger amid the all too tense desert. Still… it would be soon, he thought, and he could return to the safety of Amir's residence where he might bathe and explore the offer recently made to him by the newcomer… the woman.

"_You are bored." She walked up behind him and ran her fingernails across his back. He tensed and then breathed out slowly, breathing out the stirring of sensation. She was not his type. Far too manipulative… but she was right. He WAS bored as Amir's bodyguard, and he had not realised it until she had voiced it._

"_Yes," he said and snatched her hand away from where she now scraped her nails against his chest. She raised her eyebrow at him and he pulled her closer. Leaning down to growl dangerously into her ear. "I am a Warrior, not your lover or plaything."_

"_A pity," she said, easing her wrist from his grip and putting some distance between them, "Because we could have been magnificent. We still could."_

_He shook his head, but she held up her hand to silence his objection._

"_Come and work for me… KILL for me," she purred. "I will give you your own men to command, whatever else you desire… but I have need of a warrior of your strength when we take Hamunaptra."_

"_And when will that be?" he asked a little sarcastically._

"_When we are rid of the Medjai problem." She shrugged._

"_They have been around for thousands of years, what makes you think that YOU can rid the desert of their influence?"_

_She came close again, beckoning for him to lean down and listen to the words she whispered in his ear._

He smiled broadly. It was an evil smile, and he started to turn, but new movement in the Medjai camp stopped him and he lay back down on his belly to watch.

* * *

She couldn't stand another moment beneath the stifling veils – veils that she felt were choking what little life she had left in her body – nor could she bear the through of canvass cutting her off from the lights that filled the sky and kept her from the total darkness of her hopelessness. 

_Ardeth_ His name ran through her as a sob that shook her body when she tilted her head back to look at the stars and caught sight of the one that meant so much to them both… that had always been the symbol of their friendship.

She reached up and pulled off her veil, shaking out her long hair defiant against the sadness, the thoughts of an empty future and against the commands of her father at the need for caution.

* * *

She was the most beautiful thing he ever seen. A perfect shape that he was sure was pliant and warm. She raised her hands to run her fingers through her long dark hair that cascaded in waves down her back as she released it from the single tight braid. 

He could almost feel his hands running over the delicate looking spine, grabbing handfuls of that hair to pull back her head and sink his heated kisses against her skin.

He shook himself as he almost began to move. His orders were clear… from both Amir and Meela – watch, but do not engage. And one man against a patrol of Medjai fighting in defence of one of their breeding stock… he chuckled at the thought.

"What is funny?" Wahid settled beside him on the dune. "We have to go… I heard them talking. They are making for the dock at el-Hiba. We have to tell the others."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because that is why we were sent to watch them."

"No," Loch-nah snapped irritably. "Why do they travel, and with a woman in tow?"

"Something about a wedding." Wahid answered. "I didn't wait around to find out."

He took another look at the woman, still standing in the middle of the Medjai camp, still unveiled, still with her face upraised to the sky. So… she was to be married was she…?

"Perhaps not," he said aloud, drawing a puzzled look from Wahid. He just shook his head and followed the assassin back down the side of the dune to where they had hobbled their horses.

* * *

She leaned against him in the darkness, secure with his arms wrapped around her and warm from the heat of the camp fire beside them. The two of them gazed up into the night sky, both lost in their own thoughts. 

He pressed a sudden kiss against the side of her head and she smiled.

"Thank you, Jonathan," she whispered. "Today has been unbearably beautiful."

"Did you want to go back?" he asked, sounding, she thought, just a little disappointed. She shook her head and snuggled closer to him… half turning in his arms so that she lay with her side against his chest.

"I want to stay like this forever. Here… with you…" she murmured and looked up at him.

"Really?" he asked, his fingers walking gently over her cheek.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. Taking his fingers from her face she kissed them on by one and then shyly looked out at the water of the small oasis where they had picnicked.

"Celia--" he moaned softly.

"Ssshhh," she pressed a trembling hand against his lips, and then leaned up to kiss him softly. "Love me, Jonathan."

He pulled away, and she looked up into the surprise in his eyes; surprise which softened into tenderness.

"Are you sure?" he asked, dipping his head to kiss her lips and then rubbing their noses together.

She nodded; unable to be so brave as to ask him again, in fact she did not know where the courage had come from in the first place.

She closed her eyes as his fingers found their way into her hair and stroked softly, almost hesitantly. She pressed her fingers against the strong and steady pulse in the side of his neck as his lips met with hers, persuaded her to soften them and open to the caress of his tongue.

They kissed more deeply than they had ever done before, and as they kissed his fingers began to touch her softly. Gentle little touches against her shoulders and her back, which swept the warmth of the fire into her limbs and made her flush with an embarrassed tingling between her legs, made more acute by the stirring she felt against her hip.

She let her fingers slip down over his chest, into the buttons on his shirt to open them with a twist of her hand… she just wanted to feel the warm of his skin against her fingers. He moaned softly into their kiss and moved so that his weight pressed her down onto the blanket, and to the captured warmth of the sand beneath it.

Nervous excitement thrilled through her as she felt him lying half over her, his hands running gently over her arms, and his chest moving under her touch.

"You're so beautiful Celia," he whispered, kissing her cheek. She looked up at him, opening her eyes at last to see the echo of his love for her in his eyes as he watched his fingers, touching as they were, softly… tenderly against the side of her right breast.

"Touch me, Jon," she breathed. "Please…"

* * *

The shadows moved and became the tall shape of the Medjai Commander. Da'ud signalled his men to approach silently and not until they were beside him did he speak. 

"He will take her as his wife. Guard the oasis, and made sure they are not disturbed."

"It will be as you command," his men replied and they too became mere shadows in the starry night as they moved to surround the oasis.

Da'ud smiled and moved to take up his own position, near to the horse and the camel that had brought the English man and the woman to the oasis that had become their wedding bower.

* * *

Melleha leaped to her feet as the sound of the voices finally reached her ears. Zhadina tugged on her hand to pull her into the room that served as both bedroom and dressing room and started to fix the Haad back into place over her head. 

"You have left it so late to do this. He could have been right by the door and you would keep him waiting."

"The weight of it makes my head ache," she explained, sitting so that the other woman could more easily reach to cover her hair.

"Not for much longer, my dove," Zhadina said softly, fussing around the folds of fabric. "Only five days more."

Melleha shivered. In five more days she would be his wife… Melleha Bay. She swallowed hard. As the number of days got less and less toward that day… as the visitors she met and who gathered to wish her well, and give her the gifts that now lay piled in the spare room of the guest house she inhabited grew more and more… she began to feel the apprehension of it.

This would be the first time she had seen him since she had been brought to the settlement over two weeks ago. It had been a frustrating and difficult two weeks, filled with alternate boredom and flurries of activity as she was measured for the outfits she would wear to her wedding.

People visited her daily to instruct her in the form of the wedding, to explain her duties as the wife of the First Medjai… as the wife of ANY Medjai come to that until it all swarmed around in her head like a nest of scorpions, but still it was all so unreal, because the rest of the time she was segregated from the outside world; surrounded by her Haad with nothing more to do than sit and think and dream.

And the dreams… they always seem to come back to the one point on which no-one would speak to her… her wedding night, and the nights she would spend in his bed thereafter. Would he be gentle… passionate… would he sleep with her only to get her with child, or would he always share her bed? What happened between men and women of the Medjai who were married?

"Melleha, huwwa hona… inti musta'idda?" Cala's soft voice interrupted her thoughts and she saw the other woman standing in front of her, waiting for her answer. She struggled to understand… wanting, no needing to begin to speak the language that was all around her.

_He is here_ she understood the first part, but the question she had been asked… it lost her, it was not a word she had heard before, or could even guess. She looked helplessly at Zhadina.

"He is here, are you ready?" the younger woman said softly. "_Musta'idda_ is ready."

"Thank you," she reached out to squeeze Zhadina's hand. Then she added softly to Cala, "Aiwa."

"Yallah," Cala held out her hand toward the doorway, and to the other women waiting just outside and unexplained to her, Melleha felt her eyes fill with tears. None the less she fell into step with the rest of her Haad.

She had to stifle a gasp when she saw him. She had always before considered that she had a good memory, but she did not remember him being quite so… imposing.

He stood, resplendent in the black and silver robes of the Medjai chieftain, patiently waiting, seemingly at ease and yes so obviously poised for immediate action, should the need arise, she could tell, by the fact that his wrists rested gently on the hilts of his blades. His dark hair hung in waves that curled and broke over his shoulders like a balm that accented his beauty.

"Misaa il-xeer." The words rolled off his tongue like honey. _Good evening_.

"Misaa… in-nuur," she stammered in response, her mind somehow supplying her with the traditional response… _evening of light._

"Izzayyik?" he asked softly, enquiring after her health.

She froze, her brain simply refused to cooperate and provide her with an answer for him. She couldn't remember the words, even though she had been saying them at least four times each day as each new wave of visitors enquired of her as to how she was. But not only that… until moments ago she had been fine, but now – standing before him – she felt flustered and cut adrift.

"Erm… I…" she stopped when his head turned slightly and he raised his eyebrow, behind her she felt one of the others shift uncomfortably.

"Ana bekheer," she said at last, feeling as though she wanted to cry. "Izzayyak?"

"Kwayyis, il-Hamdu lillaah," he answered that he was well, softening his face into a half smile. "Hona, Melleha, itfaddali."

He gestured toward the low table and the cushions surrounding it. There was a steaming pot of tea on the table top, and bowls of dates and sweet pastries.

"Shukran," she blinked beneath the Haad, not sure why she was blushing at so simple and invitation, to sit and share tea with a man she was about to marry. She moved slowly toward the cushions and lowered herself carefully to sit cross legged on the soft surface. When she looked up, he was opposite her, and all but Zhadina had left her company.

"'Andik gamii bitHaggi?" he asked, still smiling, as she poured the tea for the three of them.

She was lost. She couldn't grasp a single word of the phrase he had just spoken and she was trying so hard. She felt a sense of defeat, of uselessness and her hand trembled as she began to move his cup toward him on the table.

"Ardeth," she said so softly she almost couldn't hear her own voice. She tried again, trying twice to tell him she did not understand. "Ana la afham, mishfahma…"

She almost dropped the full cup, and lightning fast he reached across the table to cup his hand around hers, ignoring the tea that spilled over his fingers.

"Aasif," she breathed.

"Ma'liss," he said gently, and setting the cup aside, instructed Zhadina to give him something. Melleha did not catch what. She was too busy fighting tears and the pain in her fingers where the hot tea had spilled.

"I am sorry," he said, taking the soft cloth from Zhadina and tenderly drying Melleha's fingers. "Forgive me. You are doing very well."

"But what did you say?" she asked quietly, becoming aware of his hand still holding hers.

"I asked if you have everything you need," he answered. "I understand it is all very strange for you Melleha, but I assure you it will get easier."

She gave a humourless little laugh and then began to tug slightly on her fingers until he let go of her hand.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, nodding toward her hand as she cradled it against her. She shook her head.

"Not really," she said. "Who are all these people that keep coming to visit with me Ardeth?"

"They are the commanders of the Twelve Tribes of the Medjai," he said. "They are gathering for our wedding."

"I see," she said, shivering slightly… _twelve tribes?_ She found herself wondering just how many Medjai there truly were, if there were thousands here and all the tribes were as big then…

"Is something wrong?" he asked her. She was still surprised at how observant he was. She was completely covered from head to foot and still he had noticed her shivering.

"It all seems so big," she murmured.

He nodded, and with an apologetic smile said, "Has someone been to explain to you what will happen?"

"Only every day for the last week or there abouts," she sighed.

Ardeth chuckled. The sound made her blush again. It was a deliciously rich sound and she couldn't help but wonder what that sound would be like right beside her ear.

"They are a little over zealous I think," he said. "I will speak with them before I ride out tomorrow."

"You are leaving?" she asked, surprised.

"Only for a few days," he said. "I am riding out to meet with the commander of the Ninth Tribe. He and my father were good friends. I have known him since I was a boy and often stay with him when I am away from home. He is like a father to me now."

She found herself quite moved by his words. Happy that he had friends among the other Medjai that he could turn to if he needed to.

"It's good that you have friends like that among the other tribes," she said softly.

"I am happy that you feel that way." He picked up one of the bowls and offered her a sweet pastry, taking one himself after she had. "I have asked Marzuq to be our witness."

"Witness?" she squeaked, almost choking on the pastry as she had vision of being watched making… She blushed beneath the Haad. Zhadina moved behind her and rubbed her back until she stopped coughing.

"I thought someone had explained to you." Ardeth said.

"The ceremony," she gasped. "But no one mentioned anything about a witness."

"He will see that I take you home, that we accept each other, man to woman. Beyond that," he shrugged, "he will guard the house and make sure that we are not disturbed once we are alone."

Relief flooded her, though she swallowed hard at the through of being alone with Ardeth – with just the man – without all the Medjai rite and tradition between them.

"When will he arrive?" she asked softly.

* * *

Even without the blanket the chill of the night would not have bothered her, with Jonathan so close, and with his hand touching her more intimately than had any other. 

He was beside her, almost over her, his naked body pressed to hers. She sighed softly as his kiss descended to her shoulder sending whorls of feeling spiralling into her belly to stoke the fire his touches had kindled, deeper still within her.

He was hard against her stomach where he half covered her and that frightened her a little, but she knew he would never hurt her – through the long minutes of their love play he had given her nothing but the most exquisite pleasure. She felt swollen and honeyed between her thighs where she now longed for his touch, but still he lingered at her breast, teasing her nipple with the circling touch of his fingers.

"Jonathan…" she moaned his name.

"My Celia," he whispered, his kisses leaving her shoulders to meet with his hand.

She almost cried out when the soft shield of his lips closed around her erect nipple and he sucked it still further into his mouth, the feeling he gave her was so intense it was almost painful…

"Oh my love," she gasped. "Jon please…"

She ran her hands down his back to encourage his touches, to encourage him to move to cover her, opening herself to him as he settled between her legs.

"Celia, I--" he looked deeply into her eyes as he began the journey that they simply could not take a second time. "I love you."

She reached up to take his face between her hands and drew his head down to kiss him deeply, feeling him nudging against the ache that seemed to come from and return to that space between her legs, deep inside her.

Knowing and not caring that it was more than likely Francis would know… if it ever came to her having to go through with the wedding… that she had given herself to someone else before he even got close. She wanted it to be Jonathan. She wanted to be his.

She kissed him harder still as he pressed inside her, past her body's natural barrier, to keep from crying out until the warm feelings outweighed the sharpness, and her body learned the ways of love from the man of her heart.

* * *

Melleha turned over in her sleep. She was exhausted after the awkwardness of the meeting with Ardeth, upset that it had been so impersonal and wishing it could have been something else… the man and not the Medjai. 

"_The man?" he wrapped his arms around her waist and eased her closer to him. "He has always been here. He is the one that loves you Melleha."_

"_Loves me?" she turned to face him at last, pressing her hands against his chest._

"_Did you believe I don't?" He dipped his head to look into her eyes, seeing the fear there, seeing the truth. "Do you honestly think that I would have married you if I didn't love you?"_

"_I thought you just wanted--" she stopped at the gentle touch of his lips on hers. The touch came again and this time deepened as he captured her lips under his. His lips caressing hers, making her knees weak and trembling she clung to him._

"_Does that feel as if I don't love you?" he murmured._

_Before she could answer he picked her up and carried her over to the bedroom setting her down on the soft cushions and kneeling beside her._

"_Let me show you how much."_

She moaned and turned over again, her arm falling across her face. Her chest heaving… rising and falling quickly as the passion of the dream swept over her.

_She was naked beneath him as his hands swept over her, caresses that were becoming more and more passionate with each moment. He moved again and was pressed between her legs, between her thighs, the hardness of his rod pressing against her tenderness._

_She whimpered slightly as he began to move, until the tightness stole her breath, and then she clutched him tighter, pulling him into her fully, completely and crying out, her muscles trembled around him as the feelings swept over her._

She moaned loudly and her eyes snapped open, for a second not sure where she was and then with the returning awareness came the embarrassment. She had dreamed again… to the same conclusion as last time.

* * *

He sighed softly; the heavy warmth of her still sleeping body draped over him was a happy reminder of the moment they had shared the night before. The campfire cracked beside them, though the light creeping through his still closed eyelids told him that the sun was partly risen. 

A vague niggling thought seeped into his awakening mind… _Slept… at the oasis… in the middle of the desert…?_ His eyes snapped open and the sight of the black clad figure tending the fire had him reach for his jacket, discarded somewhere toward the basket that had contained their picnic.

His sudden movement disturbed Celia, who woke with a soft murmur of protest, and then came awake with a light, high scream of shock as she too saw the figure. Her distress spurred Jonathan to greater bravery and action than he thought he had ever known and he grabbed the small gun he habitually carried, and pointed it at the now seated figure.

"It's all right, Celia. You're safe now." He put his arm around her as she pulled the blanket almost up to her chin.

"He is right," the accented voice sounded vaguely amused. "You are safe. You are both safe."

"Yes, well…." Jonathan did not lower his gun, even though he now recognised the figure before him as Medjai. If it had been Ardeth he might… _might_ have lowered the weapon, but this man was unfamiliar.

"Did it not occur to you, Jonathan Carnahan, that if the Medjai wanted you dead, you would never have woken this morning?" The warrior gestured toward the fire. "There is water for tea."

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Jonathan asked, stuttering only slightly and trying to ease himself between the Medjai and Celia even though – knowing the Medjai as he did – the warriors words rang true.

"I am Medjai," the man answered. "My name is Da'ud. You have been looking for us."

"Da'ud?" Celia whispered behind him.

Jonathan knew it was the name of the Medjai that had saved her from the heat of the desert and the hands of the man that would have attacked her. Slowly he lowered the weapon.

"Perhaps you could give us a moment to get dressed?" he suggested.

The Medjai nodded. "I will go and speak with my men."

Silently Da'ud got to his feet and left the immediate area of the oasis. Even in the black robes he wore, seeming to melt into the desert sands.

Jonathan turned to Celia at last and before she could say anything at all, he took her in his arms and kissed her gently. She melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and moaning softly into the kiss. When their lips parted, she was smiling softly.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For protecting me."

He shrugged, embarrassed but at the same time delighted and said, "Oh it's was nothing."

"Yes." She argued, turning his face back down to hers. "It was. It was everything to me."

They kissed again, this time more slowly… more deeply than before and afterwards, held tightly to each other.

"Everything will be all right now, you'll see," he told her and started to help her get dressed.

* * *

She sat beside her father's tent, veiled now as she had been told. Her stomach was knotted with dread at the thought of seeing him again. They were only a day outside of al-Dakhla and her father had told her that Ardeth was coming out to meet them and ride in with them. 

In spite of that dread she leaped to her feet when she heard the rumbling of horses' hooves and squinted against the sun toward the small band of Medjai riding in their direction.

Ardeth… she would know him anywhere… swung down from his horse and approached her father, to wrap him in a tight brotherly embrace.

She turned away, her eyes filling with tears, knowing the feel of those arms closed tightly around her… it would be a memory only now. Forbidden… as was her love for him.

* * *

"You had a safe journey then," Ardeth said quietly as he walked beside Marzuq, further into the camp. 

"Mostly uneventful," his friend answered. "We were followed as far as el-Hiba."

"By whom?" he asked, instantly concerned.

Marzuq shook her head. "We never properly saw them, though I believe they were not of the Farhaseed. It was too small a band."

"Even so…"

"But none the less, I sent back a message that the Ninth should increase their patrols in that area." Marzuq interrupted, and then smiled, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Be gentle with her, my son, she has taken this news hard."

Until his friend had spoken, he did not even realise that his eyes had been searching the camp to find Lamis. He sighed and opened his mouth to say something but Marzuq shook his head.

"Even so you need to speak with her Ardeth. Life goes on, and there may come a time, Allah forbid, when you are brought to our tribe injured and she will need to tend your wounds." He squeezed Ardeth's shoulder. "Better that you pass this awkwardness now, than at that time."

He nodded in the direction of the rocks nearby the camp and following his gaze, Ardeth finally spotted Lamis. _No wonder you missed her._

She was veiled, dressed in her healer's robes – a deep indigo blue and as flowing as the sand or the waters of al-Dakhla. Gathering himself with a deep breath he started over in her direction.

She turned as he got near and before he could say anything she spoke. Her voice was low and unsteady.

"Peace be upon you, Ardeth," she said more formally than she had ever spoken with him.

"And on you also," he said. Something made him reach out to touch the edge of her blue robes. "Are you--"

"I trust your wounds are all healed now?"

"I'm quite well," he answered, hating the forced distance she put between them, but hating more the barely held tremble in her voice. "Lamis--"

* * *

Unable to keep it up any longer she pressed her hand against his chest and pushed as he tried to move closer. 

"I cannot, Ardeth, please." She let go of the restraint that was quite literally hurting her throat, hearing her voice crack and clearing her throat to try, ineffectively to even it out.

"You are my friend," he said firmly, steady and confident as ever. "Closer to me than even my sisters, nothing will ever change that."

"Then perhaps it should!" She failed to catch the sob and hated herself for it. It made him reach for her again and she had to push harder this time to prevent being drawn against the firm warmth of his chest. "Because I love you and that is not something I simply ignore just because it is inconvenient to you or--"

"Lamis…" he swept his hand between them to break the way her arm braced him away from her and then gathered her close, into the folds of his robes.

She fought him, momentarily – fighting her self more, as all she desired was to be held there for ever – but in the end lost both the fight and the resolve to keep him away. She reached up to cling to the front of his robes sobbing against him as she felt his fingers creep under the back of her head-dress, to tangle in the hair she had left loose – against all custom that unmarried women kept their hair tightly braided.

"Your love could never be an inconvenience to _any_ man," he said softly, but firmly. "You must not believe that it could."

"It feels like dying, Ardeth," she mumbled through her tears. Anyone else, her father included, would have taken her words and made empty assurances, that it would become easier with time. Ardeth though, he knew her. He knew her thoughts, her hopes and dreams. He would never add to her pain in the way that would.

"There is nothing I can say that will change that," he told her. "I can only repeat that I will always hold you here."

She felt his hand close around hers and move it more centrally, pressing it against his chest, where she could feel his slow and steady heartbeat. She leaned her head against their joined hands.

"The pure, sweet memory of a brave woman about whom I care very much," he continued, lifting her hand to kiss her palm, "Whose hands have nursed me to health from beyond the point of hopelessness and who even then did not desert me."

A painful rush of longing went through her as his lips touched the palm of her hand, her knees unlocked and she gripped more tightly on the front of his robe as he lowered the two of them to the sand, still holding her to him, as the emotion cut her down.

"You are saying goodbye to me," she whispered, looking up into the concerned sorrow in his deep brown eyes. She realised then that this was why he had ridden out with the escort, not to honour her father, but to have this private moment of farewell.

When he nodded, the anguish that hit her squarely, deep in her heart stole her breath. She trembled and closed her eyes against the renewed rush of tears that filled her eyes and didn't even attempt to fill her lungs again. She truly wanted to die.

"But I promise you, Lamis that if you ever need my help… anything at any time; you have but to ask it." He sighed softly. "I can at least give you that."

* * *

He eased her head back down onto his shoulder as she lost what little control she had left and held her gently but tightly as she wept herself into exhaustion. He had to summon almost all his strength to stand against the torrent of her emotions. 

He hated what he was doing, but he could not allow her to continue in the hope that one day there could be something between them. Other Medjai might have easily found a place in their lives for two women, could hold a place in their heart for more than a single wife, but if he were to be fair to Melleha and give even the chance that he might grow to love her, he had to resolve his feelings with Lamis… he _had_ to say goodbye.

When she stilled against his chest he eased her away from him slightly, supporting her head with his hand. Her eyes were closed, though tears still leaked from beneath her eyelids. He brushed them away with a gentle touch, only to see them quickly replaced by more and with another sigh he slipped one arm beneath her knees, another around her back and picked her up.

He walked slowly back to the small camp, to be met by Marzuq, who had been watching for him.

"What happened?" he asked urgently.

"She is overwrought, my friend, but she is--" he stopped. _What? Unhurt…? That was a lie._ "She will heal in time."

From the expression on his friend's face he could see the man understood what had transpired.

"Look after her, Marzuq." He asked softly as the older man began to lead him toward the tent where he might lay Lamis into her bedroll and let her sleep.

"You worry about her, Ardeth, my boy, I know." Marzuq gently lifted off his daughter's veil and outer cloak and boots as he set her down. Then he covered her with a blanket. "But since there is nothing you can do, perhaps it would be better were you to keep away from her for now… for a time."

Ardeth nodded sadly then looked up sharply as Marzuq spoke again.

"And concentrate on finding a way to love the woman who will be your wife."

* * *

With only one full day to go before her wedding, the settlement was a bustling mass of activity. It seemed that everyone had a job to do, and sitting watching them only made Melleha feel more and more nervous. 

Two shelters had been erected on opposite sides of the central space of the settlement and even now they were being decorated with plants of Jasmine and Desert Rose, and with greenery that would help to keep them shaded during the three day long ceremony that would be her marriage to Ardeth.

She had been told that he had arrived back safely earlier that day, but would not see him now before the first day of her wedding. She did have a meeting though… with the Commander that he had brought in with him, what had he said… the commander of the Ninth Tribe? Their witness.

"Melleha, you must come inside now," Zhadina told her, returning to join the other four women. "You have to eat, and then be ready to meet with the Ninth tribe."

With a sigh, she stood, as did the others, and moved into her quarters, lifting the covering from her face as she did so, as did the rest of her Haad.

"You look pale," Zhadina told her. "Are you sick?"

She shook her head.

"Just getting a little nervous," she confessed, "now that it's getting closer."

Zhadina smiled kindly and squeezed her arm, leading her toward the table where lunch had been set.

"You will be so busy tomorrow you will hardly notice the time," she said. Melleha swallowed hard.

"If that is supposed to make me feel better, it was the wrong thing to say," she said, sitting down to eat.

As they ate, she tried to follow the gossip that was going back and forth around the table amongst the women, but for the most part they spoke too quickly for her to follow. She sighed and in the absence of anything else to do felt her mind starting to drift.

_He caught her up in his arms and swung her around, pressing a hot kiss against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and laughed._

"_Can I take it you're pleased my love?" she asked. She didn't care that he was still dusty from the desert_

"_Pleased?" He laughed. "Melleha, my God, of course I'm pleased."_

_He put her down and laid his hand gently over her belly, as if he were trying to feel for the life inside her. She leaned against him… weary and more relieved than she had cared to believe she would be that he was home and safe… that he ALWAYS seemed to come home and safe._

A hand closed around hers and she jumped.

"Melleha, I said they are here… waiting for you in the council chambers." Zhadina said softly.

* * *

Dizzy… sick and tired. She wanted nothing more than to go and find the soft bed that had been provided for her and curl up in it… sleep through the next few days and wake to find that it was all some dreadful nightmare… but no… 

There she stood, beside her father and her younger brother – the eldest having remained back at her home, having only just become a father he had been given special permission to miss the auspicious occasion that was the marriage of the First Medjai… she wished she could have stayed.

Her robes felt heavy, she felt hot and not for the first time she wondered if perhaps she should have eaten something that morning, but eating was the furthest thing from her mind. She reached underneath her heavy blue veils and almost angrily wiped away the tear that had somehow found its way onto her face. Then she jumped as the doorway behind her opened and five identically dressed women came into the room.

She looked at them long and hard. Trying to work out which of them it was that was the bride and which of them the Haad. They all had the dark gauze veils pulled down over the top of their faces as well as the Abbaya. It covered their eyes, making it harder still to tell them apart.

The women turned to face her family and one of them spoke.

"Welcome to al-Dakhla, honoured family of the Ninth." The Arabic was flawless – a Medjai then and not the woman he would marry. The gossip in the street said that the woman was not only from outside the tribes, but also that she was a European woman. "We are the Haad for Melleha, betrothed of Ardeth Bay."

She felt her father step beside her and introduce his family.

"I am Marzuq, Commander of the Ninth tribe. This is my youngest son, Abdul-Ra'uf, and my daughter, Lamis."

"It is an honour to meet you Commander," the Medjai spokeswoman answered. "And your family. Our betrothed has spoken most highly of you."

"Then it is I that am honoured, Sayiida," Marzuq answered.

Lamis felt sick. To hear the word spoken, and of Ardeth… _betrothed_… it brought the moment to a head. She clenched her fists at her side, to push away the sensation of light headedness.

"If you will permit me," her father continued as she fought her own private battle. "We have brought a modest gift to mark the occasion of your wedding."

"The Ninth Tribe is most generous," the answer came smoothly… all according to tradition. Marzuq nodded to her brother who came forward, toward the table and placed down the soft linens and the rugs that they had brought as wedding gifts for Ardeth and his bride… _Melleha_.

She thought on the name. It was not a terribly European name, perhaps the gossip had been mistaken as so often was the case, but then again, the Arabic was being translated to English in a quiet whisper.

"It is our pleasure," her father said softly. "We will not disturb you longer, Honoured Lady. May we wish you every happiness in your forthcoming marriage and the many years ahead."

"You are kind, Commander," the voice answered, and the hated meeting was concluded… almost.

"If I might?" Lamis did not know where she found the courage to speak openly, or how she kept the trembling weakness she felt in that moment from showing in her voice. Her father turned back to face her, and to face the Haad before her.

There was a shocked silence… for many long moments before the voice of the Haad found the wherewithal to instruct her to speak.

"My Lady, I understand you are not of the Tribes, and that this wedding has been swiftly organised, and so I have a personal gift if you will allow it." She swallowed hard. "Since you would not know of the tradition, nor had the time to do so if you did."

"Lamis--" her father warned quietly. She knew what she was about to do was unprecedented, but she would have no use for the material she had woven, not now.

"Allow her to speak," a new voice, though still in perfectly inflected Arabic, spoke out this time. She was the one that had been whispering a translation of the words Lamis spoke.

"The sash," her voice trembled even more as she explained, "worn by a Medjai Warrior represents the protection a woman weaves around her husband with the love she feels for him. It is a traditional gift from the bride to her new husband. I doubt any would have thought to tell you of this tradition as I have said, and if they had, you would not have had the time to make such an item for our First Medjai."

She could not bring herself to say his name, so used his title, biting her lip beneath her healer's veil to push back the new wave of dizziness that came over her and paused for a long time before speaking again.

"With your permission I should like to give to you a sash that I had woven personally over the past few years or thereabouts.

"Will you not need the sash for your own husband, when the time arises?" the first voice spoke softly.

"No, I--" Lamis choked on the words, and could not continue… looking over into the midst of the Haad where one of the women was raising the gauze covering from her head with a pale white hand.

"Please, go ahead," the woman said in very hesitant Arabic, stepping forward much to the distress of the rest of the Haad.

The eyes that met hers were pale blue, and shining with concern and almost something approaching affection as Lamis moved forward to meet with the woman and swayed slightly.

As she reached the woman that must have been Melleha she held out the small bundle she had carried close to her heart the entire journey, releasing the soft, almost black fabric into the woman's hands.

"Ana--" she stopped… "Zhadina?"

Melleha called one of her Haad forward as she took hold of Lamis' hand. She spoke quickly in English, to the other woman who then spoke.

"She does not know what to say," she said. "She is most touched by your kind hearted and thoughtful gesture."

Melleha spoke again, her words translated to Lamis by the loyal member of her Haad as her eyes smiled and looked kindly into Lamis' own.

"In all of the many people that have visited to wish her well, not one of them has shown the concern for her that you have… for the fact that she does not understand or even know of most Medjai customs." Again words were spoken and translated. "This means a lot to her, Lamis and she is sure that it will also be important to Ardeth."

Until the mention of his name, Lamis had been able to mostly bear the speech of gratitude given to her, whole heartedly, by the woman that would soon be Ardeth's wife. But once his name was spoken, everything changed.

The heat that she had been keeping at bay by breathing slowly and deeply rose quickly to bite at her ears. Her knees liquefied and the sick feeling increased until she was sure she would embarrass herself by vomiting all over the council chamber.

She swayed and moaned softly, fighting the darkening that was happening at the edges of her vision and felt Melleha's arms come around her at once. She was spoken to in English that she didn't understand, and the question repeated in Arabic.

"Are you sick?" the Haad asked.

She tried to shake her head, but it made the feelings much worse and increased the darkness.

She had fainted often enough herself to recognise when it was about to happen to someone else. She tightened her grip around the other woman that had been so kind to her, though still a stranger to her.

* * *

"Quickly… Cala!" she called out for the member of her Haad that was a healer in training, as she lowered the slight young Medjai woman carefully to the floor of the council chamber. "Zhadina, go and fetch a healer!" 

"She _is_ a healer," Zhadina answered, pointing to the robes that Lamis wore, and then to the mark on her temple when Cala lifted her veil away and loosened the ties on the front of her robe to allow her to breathe properly.

"Do as I ask you," she said and pushed Zhadina toward the door. Then she moved as if to pull off her own covering so that she could give better comfort to the woman.

"Melleha, Laa!" Inas called out. "Il-riggaala."

"Then tell them to leave," she countered, in that moment thoroughly sick of the stupid Medjai tradition. From somewhere she remembered the word that al-Madhi would so often yell at her and Firyal when he told them to get out. "Uxrugu!"

The men, who had already turned away the moment her hand moved toward her Haad clothing, almost tripped over their robes in their haste to comply, but she turned her attention from them to the young woman who was beginning to stir. She gently stroked her finger though her long almost black hair.

"It's all right," she crooned softly. "Laa xoof. No, no."

She pressed against the woman's shoulder when she started to try and get up. Looking into her eyes and smiling softly.

"Don't get up… please. We've sent for a healer." She touched the mark on Lamis' head to try and get her to understand.

Evidently she must have, because she moaned softly and lay back against the ground almost as though she were exhausted. Her eyes filled with tears.

She looked up at the gentle woman's pale face and bright blue eyes. This time there was no mistaking the kind, concerned affection she saw and her eyes filled with tears. She looked at the long brown hair, the full lips, the high smooth cheeks and those tears increased. _She is so…_

"You are very beautiful," she breathed softly, not knowing if Melleha would understand her.

"Thank you," she answered. "But you are more so."

"And kind… so gentle," she continued. "It is no wonder Ardeth loves you."

Melleha frowned, and shook her head softly.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she said. "Ah, here is the healer…"

* * *

Ardeth looked up from where he was supervising the younger Medjai grooming some of the horses in time to see one of the Haad running across the courtyard, a blue robed healer in tow. 

His heart froze… and tossing the brush to the nearby boy he almost sprinted toward the council chamber. His concern increased when he saw Marzuq and Abdul-Ra'uf standing outside.

"What is wrong?" he tried to enter, but Marzuq restrained him.

"No… Ardeth!" he said, struggling to hold him back. "She broke the Haad, you cannot go in. She was trying to give comfort to Lamis."

_Lamis…_

Ardeth staggered back a step, still held by Marzuq.

"What happened?" he asked, shocked, and then added quietly. "Let me go."

"She fainted," his friend told him, doing as he was bidden. "The healer is with her Ardeth, all will be well. You should return to your duties."

"No." he said firmly. Fixing the worried father with an expression that dared him to challenge his decision.

A moment later, the healer emerged, leading a pale and shaken Lamis by the arms, and passed her into her father's care.

"First Medjai." The healer afforded him a slight nod of respect then turned to Marzuq. "She is over tired… the journey, probably… and in need of food, water and rest," she said. "Take her to your quarters and put her to bed, I will be along directly and will bring her a tonic to speed her recovery."

"But there is nothing wrong?" Ardeth asked, turning the healer to face him from where she watched Marzuq and his son leading Lamis away.

She turned her face upward to look knowingly, deep into his eyes before she said, "No… Ardeth Bay, this happens quite often in matters such as this. There is nothing wrong."


	10. Union

Forbidden Chapter 10 – Union 

Nervousness was one thing, the way she felt was something altogether different. She sat barely able to breathe, barely able to think and watched as they unwrapped her hands and feet from the light binding they had placed over the patterns drawn in dark paste on the top of her feet and ankles, and over her hands and wrists.

Even the soothing pass of the brush through her hair as Zhadina prepared to braid it for her did little to control the knots and whorls of fear that fluttered like moths in her belly.

She gasped as they gently scraped away the now dried paste to reveal the deep mahogany patterns stained into her skin.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It is meant to be," Zhadina chuckled. "You are meant to be… the most beautiful you can be on the day of your wedding, and believe me… you will."

Melleha swallowed hard. The day of her wedding – finally it had dawned – by nightfall, though days of celebration would remain afterward, by nightfall she would be his wife.

"Ardeth will not be able to keep his hands off you." Zhadina said, as though she knew what she was thinking.

"Zhadina," she whispered softly in protest that another should take her thoughts further down the road that they had already travelled…

_She felt she would never get used to the sensation of his kisses, or the sensations she felt in other places of her body when he kissed her. Under the pressure of his lips she parted hers and felt him tighten his arms around her as his tongue gently passed her lips to dip within her mouth. She closed her eyes as he lowered them both to the goatskin bed and started to caress her body._

"_Gently, kalila," he whispered against her hair and he gathered her close, to hold her until her sudden shaking subsided._

_She smiled shyly as he picked up her hand and brought it from where she was almost gripping the front of his golden robes to his lips, to sensually kiss each fingertip before he cradled her hand against his cheek._

"_You must think me a child," she looked away._

"_I think of you as my wife," he murmured, taking her chin in his fingers to turn her gaze back toward him. A hot thrill went through her as she met his eyes and the intense passion she saw hidden in the rich brown that captivated her. She closed her eyes as he came closer, and whimpered slightly as he captured her lips once more beneath his._

_As they kissed his hands moved over her like a hot breeze over the desert, and her clothing fell away at his touch. The brush of each finger against her skin bringing a gasp from her lips at each caress, punctuating their kisses until at last he leaned away to unfasten the robe he wore and pushed it off his shoulders. It slipped down his spine like burnished gold, falling to the ground beside their bed. _Their_ bed… _

_She sighed happily at that thought as he returned to cover her with his body. His skin to hers, softer and more sensual than any blanket as he moved barely a little to nudge against her, against the warm soft hollow that somehow ached in a way that was sweet and wanted more of his touch._

_She did not realise she was holding her breath until he whispered, "Breathe, my love."_

_Then he moved again, pressing gently inside her, slowly… opening her, stretching her around him. She moaned and clutched at his shoulders, overwhelmed with the sensation of it._

_He kissed her then, around her neck and shoulders, but it did nothing to ease the awareness of him passing into her… pressing now as he was against that barrier inside. She felt tears rising in her eyes, even felt him cradle her face against a palm to wipe away a tear that escaped onto her pale cheek._

"_Melleha…" he breathed._

"_Ardeth," she moaned again then gave a small cry as her body surrendered to his possession and he entered her fully. What pain there was, was short lived as a pleasure so intense began to sweep over her and—_

"Melleha!" Zhadina shook her slightly. "Melleha this is not the time to daydream. They will be coming soon to bring us to the place where the wedding will take place. We have to be ready."

"Sorry," Melleha said sheepishly, blushing dreadfully. "I just… it's just that I realised I have no idea what to expect."

"But we have told you what will happen at the wedding," Zhadina told her, sounding a little irritated as she turned to put the finishing touches to her own garment for the wedding.

Melleha and her Haad were all dressed identically, for the last time these women that had been with her all of the past weeks would be with her as her protection. After the wedding it would fall to her husband and the Haad would be dismissed. She wondered for a moment if she would ever see any of them again; if they would still be friends. There was so much she didn't know.

"Yes, but…" she said to Zhadina as she turned back to her. "I did not mean the wedding."

Zhadina chuckled, "I could no more tell you than any of us. Haad women are chosen because they too are unwed." She sighed a little then, "Though I suppose with this over my father will be anxious to see me with a husband of my own."

"I am sure you will be as lucky as I have been," Melleha laid a hand onto Zhadina's. "You are Ardeth's cousin and he will not see you with anything less than a suitable match. I know it."

Zhadina only turned away.

* * *

Holding out one last hope… it had been that failing sensation that had kept her wakeful through much of the last night, and which now caused the mechanical ritual with which she moved about as she dressed and prepared herself for the celebration of the day. 

Lamis glanced out through the window of the dwelling at the many coloured scarves and streamers that decorated the space around the water's edge. The colours blurred together as her eyes filled with tears.

"Allah, how did it come to this?" she whispered as she turned away from the window and picked up the blue and gold dress – the ceremonial robe of a Healer – as she did. "I came to Your people a healer as You asked of me…"

Here voice caught and she could not speak any more. _Anything… anything You could have asked of me I would have given… You know that… for those ribbons to have been mine._

"Lamis," her father's voice came from the other side of the door, "are you ready? We must go soon. It will begin."

She cleared her throat, trying to unfasten the knot. "I am coming," she managed, barely above a whisper.

* * *

The Medjai lined the processional avenue. The women and children were dressed in their brightest and finest clothes, the warriors in crisp black robes edged with silver. There were many cheers and women happily threw the petals of desert roses in her path as Melleha and her Haad walked sedately toward the water's edge, though how she kept moving she could not understand, for her knees trembled terribly. 

She looked for Firyal. She had promised that she would stand near to the front of the crowd where Melleha could see her. Firyal had been with her for so long and was a source of her comfort and strength. She could not imagine having a day such as this and not see her dearest friend. It was not long before she spotted her. Firyal smiled and nodded to the Haad as it passed her by.

The crowd of people behind her grew bigger the nearer Melleha got to the water. Those that had lined the avenue fell into step behind the Haad, and still more streamed in from side streets, faces all ashine with eagerness to be a part of this happy occasion.

Melleha smiled happily, and almost laughed aloud. It truly was becoming the best day of her life. All she had to do was to get through the rest of the day without making too many mistakes and she would begin the next as Ardeth's wife and celebrate the rest of the three day festival with their people at his side.

* * *

"Take my arm," her brother said kindly, and reached for her hand as it almost trembled in the air between them. 

"Thank you," she leaned against him as they followed along behind the procession of Medjai all following the wedding party to the space that had been made sacred by the Sufi and the Imam.

"You must forget him now, Lamis," her brother continued. "I would have my sister hale and whole again."

"I will be all right," she told him, though she was sure that she had just uttered the biggest lie ever told. Her brother would not understand. He could not.

"Of course you will. Soon enough you will find a warrior of your own who will take you to wife and--"

She shook her head. "I mean to be a Sworn Healer, Abdul-Ra'uf, I will have no man take me to wife now."

"Lamis…" he almost stopped walking. But for the press of people she was sure he would have done.

"I have made my choice, Ra'uf," she tried to match his voice, "it has been asked of me by Allah. Why else would he have given me these g-ifts? It would be to wrong Him not to do as he has asked."

"We will talk about this later," he told her as they reached the water's edge and moved to take their place at their father's side, close to the Marriage Circle where the couple would make their promises to each other.

"No," she said, letting go of his arm and moving to the other side of their father. "It is not a matter for discussion."

She sighed as she saw her father give her brother a warning look, knowing that he too thought she would be swayed from her decisions.

"No man but the one I love," she whispered, her hands like fists at her side holding tightly to the scrap of hope she pinned like a bandage upon the wound in her heart.

* * *

"They are all assembled, First Medjai." 

The voice of the Elder drew him briefly from his contemplation. He nodded, making no effort to get up from where knelt with so many thoughts running through his head.

He stood now at a turning point; at the beginning of a path that each of his forefathers had walked. To him fell the responsibility of ensuring that the Medjai would continue after he was gone… that there would be strong leadership to take over as he had succeeded his father.

He had spent the night in prayer; seeking guidance… _Was this right…?_

He was Twelfth-born, yes… but had he made the right decision… the right choice. She was fair… more than fair. She was beautiful and she had made much effort to accept, even to embrace their customs, which must be so very alien to her.

"There are so many things we take for granted," he said softly.

"First Medjai?" The Elder asked, sounding more than a little confused.

"Can I come to love this woman who is still a stranger to me?" he asked.

The Elder chuckled a little. "Do you desire her?" he asked.

"She is beautiful… there is something… but--"

"Then you will come to love her," the Elder laid a hand on his arm. "Trust an old man that has seen much of this world."

Ardeth couldn't help chuckling at that. "You are not so old," he told the man and began to get to his feet.

"I worry, Honoured Elder," he confessed, "that what I do today may not be the right thing to do. For the Tribes…"

"I would worry," the Elder said, "if you were not concerned. All of us doubt, Ardeth, and all of us learn through experience that these doubts are just Allah's way of making sure we give due consideration to important matters. If you had not considered the good of the Tribes through this night I would have worried and spoken out at the Circle. Your father agonised about this moment my boy… knowing that you were Twelfth-born and must take a wife from outside of the tribes. But _I _can tell you that it is my belief that you have chosen well and have approached the matter wisely. You father can rest easy, and so can you."

Ardeth smiled, and laid a hand onto the Elder's shoulder in gratitude of his kind words. "Thank you."

"Now come… before they think you _have_ changed your mind," the Elder chuckled and led him from the Prayer Hall toward the deep grey horse that was waiting to carry him to the Marriage Circle.

He mounted quickly, and expertly turned the horse in the right direction, holding the reins in one hand and the ceremonial blade that the Elder handed to him in the other. He would use the blade to meet the challenge of the Haad.

The battle was purely a ceremonial one in these modern times, but in the time of the Pharaohs, so it was written, a Medjai would truly have to defeat warrior priestesses; Women anointed to Sekhmet, to win the right to take their bride into his life.

Nodding to the Elder once more, he raised the blade in his hand, and with a loudly cried challenge, he set the horse into a gallop toward the water's edge.

* * *

She gasped as she saw him gallop into the space before her, giving a battle cry as he came and almost reached for Zhadina as she stepped forward with the rest of the Haad, to pick up one of the blades that lay in a circle around them. 

As soon as he reached them, Ardeth half leaped, half let himself slip from the saddle and release the horse to continue its gallop.

As one, the Haad moved toward him, moving quickly and almost reaching him before he regained his balance. They swung their blades toward him and Melleha almost called out to try and stop them. She had known this would happen, but seeing it brought real before her was not at all the 'dance' for which she had prepared herself. Blade clashed against blade, and far from turning to fight with the flats of the blades as she expected. All of them held them with the sharp edge leading.

She winced as two swung together at Ardeth. There was no human way he could parry both attacks at once. Instead she watched, holding her breath as she caught one of them on his _own_ blade and ducked beneath the other, before turning as he straightened to catch the one whose blade he had avoided off balance. As he struck, Melleha was relieved to see that he _did_ turn the blade to tap that member of her Haad with the flat of his blade. At once she came to one knee, and laid the blade on the ground in front of him.

Three more times the same ritual battle ensued… not ending until all four of the Haad were on one knee before Ardeth, their blades offered to him in recognition of his ability as warrior; acknowledging his ability to protect his bride.

Melleha swallowed as Ardeth, barely even breathing hard, turned to face her. In only a moment she would have to speak. The moment was coming when she would publicly accept him as her husband, even though they would not speak their vows to one another until the sun began to set.

* * *

His eyes took in every detail as he looked on his bride. Dressed as she was, in the red and gold wedding dress, wrapped in a shawl of silver, she was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. The coins that hung against her forehead framed her pale face, making her look almost like an angel. He swallowed and took a breath, preparing to speak. 

"I have defeated your Haad," he said in a voice that he knew would carry through all the assembled Medjai. "I claim my right to approach you as husband."

For just a moment he thought that she had forgotten what she must do and what she must say, and then she reached up with a trembling hand to unwind the shawl from around her and hold it spread across her two hands.

"I accept you, my husband. Approach the sheath that I have made for your sword, for there need be no battles between us."

With a nod to Zhadina, for he would know his cousin anywhere, even among identically dressed Haad, he began to approach Melleha. He knew it would have been Zhadi that taught her the Arabic words of the wedding rite.

When he reached Melleha, he carefully laid the ceremonial blade into her hands on top of the silver shawl, and then took them both from her again so that she could finish wrapping the fabric around the sword. A symbolic union between them, witnessed by the tribe as their true and private union would not be. When she reached again to take the wrapped blade from him, and hold it to her, the first of the cheers that would split the air that day was offered into the sunlit air.

Smiling broadly and taking her hand in his own, he led Melleha from their place in the centre of the Marriage Circle, to the tethered platform that floated just at the edge of the water… another symbol… of their command over the waters of the Oasis.

Once he had settled her comfortably on the cushions there he turned to his people. "Melleha has accepted me as her husband. Let us celebrate this joyous occasion as we walk together toward the moment when I will in turn accept her as my wife."

A second cheer, almost deafening, rang out across the water as he took his place beside Melleha, and everyone began to move toward the enormous tables that held food and drink for everyone.

* * *

Once everyone was settled with food, the celebration began in earnest. Melleha smiled as Ardeth served her from the dishes that weighted their own private table on their floating bridal dais. 

"You are beautiful," he told her softly, feeding her a piece of bread spread with sweet honey.

"And you are magnificent," she breathed back, blushing.

He chuckled, and for a time she had trouble breathing. He broke the moment, reaching to brush back a strand of her hair that had blown across her face. She gasped softly as his fingers skimmed against her cheek, and after that, she breathed once more.

With a smile he turned his attention to the entertainment that was taking place in the space where only a short time ago she had stood watching him fight with the Haad.

Wondering where they were, she looked through the crowd to see if she could see them, but they all must have changed their clothes, because she could not see the distinctive red and gold of her own clothes on anyone.

Her eyes did fall on the young woman from the Ninth Tribe, dressed in the deep blue robes of a Healer now, with gold embroidery trimming the robe. It seemed wrong to her somehow, that such a kind hearted soul as Lamis should be shut away from the possibility of love and motherhood. She could not help thinking that she would make a good mother and it occurred to her that she might be able to help make a good match for the young woman instead of the barren fate to which she was sealed.

"Ardeth," she began, "Will you tell me later which of your warriors are eligible for marriage?"

Ardeth chuckled, "Already making matches in your head, kalila?"

She blushed and he smiled kindly.

"There will be time enough for that when you and I are parents together. Best to leave matters of the heart to the ones whose hearts they are," he said kindly.

"No," she disagreed. "Sometimes people do not understand what is right for them until it is too late."

Ardeth shook his head, but, she noticed, did not argue with her. Nodding to herself she resolved to do all that she could to ensure a good match – the _right_ match – for the woman that had shown her such kindness and consideration. Then smiling in satisfaction at the promise made to herself, she settled back against the cushions to watch the rest of the day's entertainment.

* * *

Dusk was upon them, and Lamis could barely breathe. There remained little time… just the smallest scrap of hope that her prayer had been heard. She knew that he had already said goodbye to her but… there was still hope… wasn't there? She bit her lip hard as Ardeth rose and stepped down from the dais, moving toward a circle of straw and kindling that had been set into the middle of the space, taking up a torch as he went. 

Once he had reached the centre of the circle, he lowered the torch into one edge of the straw and at once flames sprang up around the circle, catching on the straw and kindling set in the pit to make of him the embodiment of the raging heat of the desert sun.

Tasting blood in her mouth where she had bitten her lip, she turned her head to watch as Melleha too, descended from the dais and picked up a large jewelled pitcher. Lamis knew that it was heavy by the way that Melleha carried it toward the circle of flames that had grown much higher in the time it had taken her to reach the pitcher of water and bring it toward the fire.

Lamis trembled as Melleha began to walk a circle around the fire, pouring water from the pitcher enough to douse the flames and wet the kindling and straw so that it would not catch alight again.

Within the flames Ardeth stood calm and unmoving.

Lamis felt a sharp pain in her belly. She remembered the way that felt… to stand with him, to be embraced in that calm… to be a part of him in that way. Now he would give that to another.

_But there was still time…_

"It would be so easy if I could hate her," she whispered into the gathering night. But she could not. She had seen the woman's nature. She had seen how gentle and kind she was and knew too that she was beautiful. There wasn't any way on Allah's good green earth that she could even hope to compete with that beauty.

The pain began to climb toward her heart, snuffing out the hope in its wake. She closed her eyes trying to hold in the tears that climbed with it.

"Anything You ask," she whispered in an ever dwindling voice.

When she opened her eyes again, the flames were gone, and Ardeth stood facing Melleha who was before him, holding the vessel against her belly.

"I have defeated the fires that would destroy," Melleha's voice was quiet, but it carried. "I claim my right to approach you as wife."

"I accept you as my wife," he answered and removed the sash that held his black and silver outer robe held closed. "Approach and allow me to enfold the life that you have given."

He took off the outer robe and laid it across his arms.

Lamis turned her head away, but still she saw in her mind the way Melleha stepped forward and placed the pitcher that had carried the life giving water on the top of the robe he held, and then take them both from him as he had done the blade, so that he could wrap it, and then take it back from her.

The sound of twelve torches flaring to life made her turn her head back in time to see the Commanders of eleven of the twelve tribes, and the Second of First Tribe take a step closer to the couple standing facing them and half turn to offer their hands to their wives or eldest daughters. Her father's hand stretched out toward her. Her mother had died of fever many years before.

The knife twisted in her gut again. She had no choice but to take his hand and go with him as First Lady of the Ninth tribe to hear the wedding vow of the First Medjai and his chosen Lady. Her fingers closed tightly around her father's hand and he in turn tightly gripped hers.

"I would spare you if I could," he whispered.

She had the strength only to shake her head to him. "I will hear their words… and answer them," she said thickly, but she doubted that she would have the strength to say much more that day.

Blinded by tears she walked beside her father to take their place, ninth in the circle of couples, surrounding Ardeth and Melleha.

"Will you promise to hold the Honour of the Medjai and your husband as sacred?" the Second of First tribe asked Melleha.

"Such is my sacred vow," she answered.

"Will you promise to hold the Honour of the Medjai and your wife as sacred?" echoed the commander's wife to Ardeth.

"Such is my sacred vow," he said strongly.

"Will you promise to hold your duty to your husband as your only path?" The Commander of Second Tribe demanded of Melleha.

"Such is my sacred vow," she said, with only a slight tremor in her voice.

"Will you promise to hold your duty to your wife as second only to your duty to The Twelve Tribes of the Medjai," The Commander's wife asked of Ardeth.

"Such is my sacred vow," he replied.

"Will you promise to protect the life of your husband, as his wife and as the mother of those that will come after him?" The Commander of Third Tribe fixed Melleha with serious eyes.

"Such is my sacred vow," she confirmed.

"Will you promise to protect the family you create with this woman?" The Commander's wife asked Ardeth.

"Such is my sacred vow," he said.

"Will you promise to listen to the judgement of your husband and obey the right of his words," The Commander of Fourth Tribe asked.

"Such is my sacred vow," Melleha answered.

"Will you promise to heed the counsel of your wife and take comfort in her right words?" The young wife of the Commander's eldest son asked this question of Ardeth, and Lamis saw the blush in her cheek as she spoke.

"Such is my sacred vow," Ardeth said quietly.

"Will you promise to provide for your husband those things that he needs of you?" asked the Commander of Fifth Tribe.

"Such is my sacred vow," Melleha said.

"Will you promise to provide for the family you make with this woman," The Commander's wife demanded of Ardeth.

"Such is my sacred vow."

"Will you promise to teach your daughters the way of goodness and right?" asked the Commander of Sixth Tribe.

"Such is my sacred vow."

"Will you promise to teach the family you will make with this woman the ways of goodness and right?" The Commander's daughter asked, smiling at Ardeth as she did.

"Such is my sacred vow," he answered.

"Will you promise shelter and honest charity to those your husband brings to your home?" asked the Commander of Seventh Tribe.

"Such is my sacred vow," Melleha said softly, and as she turned her head toward where Lamis and her father stood, Lamis lowered her eyes to the ground dislodging two large tears to roll down her cheeks.

"Will you promise shelter and honest charity for those on whose behalf your wife approaches you?" The Commander of Seventh Tribe's wife blinked owlishly as she asked the question of Ardeth.

"Such is my sacred vow," he answered.

"Will you promise to judge fairly the deeds of your husband to others and yourself?" The Commander of Eighth Tribe asked softly.

"Such is my sacred vow," Melleha said.

"Will you promise to fairly judge the deeds of your wife?" The Commander's wife asked, more simply than her husband had done.

"Such is my sacred vow," Ardeth answered.

"Will you promise to love your husband with all of your heart and body and soul in the fullness of time?" Lamis' hand tightened around her father's as he spoke the question of Melleha.

"Yes," Melleha whispered softly, adding, "Such is my sacred vow."

Lamis took a deep breath, feeling sick to her stomach. "Will you promise to love your wife, in the fullness of time, in heart, body and soul," To her own ears she sounded dead… not at all herself, and in spite of herself she looked up and met Ardeth's eyes.

He met her gaze and gave the sigh that only she knew before he said, "Such is my sacred vow."

Feeling as though someone had just torn away everything that she could ever hope to have been, Lamis lowered her gaze once more to the sandy ground. Everything faded into insignificance. She would hear those words forever. _Such is my sacred vow…_

Her throat tightened around the sound that was gathering at the top of her lungs and the clenched her jaw shut tight. All hope dissolving in those moments and though she heard the rest of the words spoken into the gathering night, it was as though she did not understand them.

"Will you promise humility before the warriors of the Twelve Tribes?"

"Such is my sacred vow."

"Will you promise propriety before the women of the Twelve Tribes?"

"Such is my sacred vow."

"Will you promise to honour Allah and the faith of the Old Gods of the Medjai?"

"Such is my sacred vow."

"Will you promise to guide your family in the ways of Allah and the Old Gods of the Medjai?"

"Such is my sacred vow."

"Will you promise to remain faithful to the wedding vows you have made from now into Eternity?"

"Such is my sacred vow."

"Will you promise to remain faithful to the wedding vows you have made from now into Eternity?"

"Such is my sacred vow."

Lamis remained stationary as her father, together with the other commanders raised their torches to form a blazing grown over Ardeth and Melleha.

"By Allah, and by the Old Gods of our people," she moved her lips, but no sound came from her throat, still constricted around the terrible sound that only she could hear buzzing in her head, "we have heard the promises made between this man and this woman and declare them to be new made husband and wife."

Like one asleep, she walked at her father's side back to their place among the revellers as the celebration continued, and would continue late into the night, but as soon as she was able, as soon as her absence would not be noticed, she shrank into the shadows and headed toward the Prayer Hall at the far edge of the settlement.

* * *

The Second remained as all of the others returned to their places and Melleha smiled at him as he apologised to her softly. 

"I must take your husband from you," he said, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, "Though you will be reunited soon."

Melleha blushed and Ardeth chuckled softly.

"I go to our home," he told her. "I will meet you there once you have given the settlement your blessing.

She smiled, happily, remembering the custom that had been explained to her. She would go to every doorway, and would fix a rose from the flowers in her wedding decorations upon it.

* * *

Each step that brought her nearer to his home left a little knot of anticipation swirling in her stomach like the wake of a wave. Around her, the women laughed and joked, though thankfully she didn't understand most of it, being in Arabic as it was. She saw Ardeth's friend, the Commander of the Ninth Tribe standing beside the door and remembered that he was there to see them accept each other. Was that truly as simple as her passing the threshold of Ardeth's home? 

At last the door was before her and her women gently but firmly pushed her through and closed it behind her. Her feet stopped her just within, staring at the many tiny lamps that lit the main room of what was now her home with the soft orange glow of fires that danced over their wick. It made her press back against the door, somehow intimidating her, as though their dancing flames shattered her fantasy of what this moment would be for her.

A shadow moved at the far side of the room as a curtain was drawn back, pulling her eye to the imposing figure that stood there, leaning against the frame of the door to a room beyond.

"Enti kha'if?" he said. His deep voice was barely above a whisper, but penetrated to her core with the tone of desire it held.

"Aiwa... La... Ana la kha'if..." Her voice shook, belying her confidence.

"Keddab," he answered softly and moved from the doorway of the darkened room to walk slowly toward her, step by almost stalking step.

She faltered for too long and before she could move his hand came down against the wood of the door to either side of her head.

"Shafi Melleha," he commanded softly in the same bass tone.

Slowly she obeyed, unable to help herself. Her eyes flickered upward, past the silver and black of the shirt he had worn beneath his robe, now cast off, to the neat trimmed beard and lips that were already parted to free the soft breath of passion that seeped from every pour of his being.

"Look at me." he repeated, the English strongly accented, probably, she thought, because it had been so long since he had used it.

"Ardeth..."

"Mishkallimi," he interrupted. "Shafi ya sitti."

His right hand moved from beside her head and she could not help but follow its movement until the fingers closed without around her chin and lifted her eyes to his.

"I told you to look at me, my wife."

"Ardeth I'm so--"

"I wanted to see the beauty in your face before..."

"Before?"

He moved, leaning slowly down toward her. Her eyes closed and her heart began racing. Her stomach turned over and over as the moment she had longed for drew ever nearer. His breath teased against her cheek increasing the frantic activity in her heart.

"Qalb ma inti ana bas," his voice was almost a caress against her lips, for in the next moment he took hers captive beneath his own.

She almost whimpered as their soft press turned her already trembling knees to the windblown water of the oasis that had been the temple for their wedding. Instead she reached for the front of his shirt to hold herself upright as his hands moved from their resting place to wind around her and pull her against the hardness of his muscled body.

His lips moved against hers and she gasped softly as his tongue drew a line along her lips, drawing his breath into her as if further entwining their lives. The touch dipped between her parted lips, the softness of his tongue, sweet and spice, together stroking against her own and filling her mouth with sensation and his hands felt like fire against her spine thought the silk of the dress.

She shivered as he eased her away from the door and led her toward the darkened room from which he had emerged, and to the cushioned bed within. It was not as dark as she had first thought, but was more dimly lit than the main room of the house. He gave her little pause to take in the surroundings however, soon drawing her down to lounge beside him on their marriage bed.

There he stopped to look at her, reaching out only to pull the veil from her hair, his fingers trailing down almost the entire front of her form. He barely touched her and yet she shivered as though she were cold, anticipation knotting in the centre of her chest.

"Ardeth I..." she swallowed hard.

"Melleha," he said softly, bringing her hand to his chest. He trapped it beneath his own, over his heart. It beat strongly against her fingers, revealing his passion, held in check.

His hand reached toward her again, to the buttons fastening the front of the dress, and slowly, one by one, his eyes locked with hers he slipped each one from its confining button hole with an easy flick of his wrist. Between each, his fingers lingered a short while against her flesh, already flushing with excited embarrassment at the thought of being naked before him.

Of their own accord her hands pulled at the laces on the shirt he wore, her fingers slipping within, beneath the fabric to drink in the intoxicating warmth of his soft skin. He dipped his head toward her at her touch and pressed a hot kiss against the skin of her neck.

She gasped, her head falling back a little, reflexively giving him fuller access to her neck, only to feel his hand pushing against her shoulder to encourage her to lie back against the pillows as his kisses descended toward her almost uncovered breasts. She moaned softly, the hot press of his lips and tongue, and the soft yet rough brush of his beard bringing every nerve to life under the tender passions of his love play.

She tugged inexpertly at his shirt, and he paused for long enough to pull it one handed over his head and to shrug off the billowing pants that he had worn beneath his robes. She whimpered at the sight of his broadly muscled chest accented by the dark tattoos that graced his skin; that she didn't have the time to properly view before he leaned over her again. He pushed aside the fabric of her dress, and cupping one soft mound in his hand lowered his lips to worship at its pale beauty.

She could not contain the sound kindled at that loving touch, and at the caress of his fingers that tried to somehow balance the open mouthed kisses with which he made love to her breast. She felt herself coming apart at his touches, at his kisses, flooding like the September Nile, and as breathless as the desert in the depth of summer.

The ties on the side of the skirt succumbed to his desires, leaving her open to his gaze. She tried to cover herself but he caught her hand and pressed it back against the cushions, leaning over her to whisper, his voice barely audible and thick with suppressed desire, "Do not hide yourself from me, my wife." He pushed at the shoulders of her dress and commanded in the same bass voice, "Take it off."

"Ardeth--"

"Off!"

Swallowing down her excited fear she complied, glad when he gathered her into a strong embrace and pillowed her head against his naked chest.

"You are as the silver waters, kalila," he said softly, "reflecting the rays of the moon and the kiss of the stars."

He took her hand in his and made a trail with it in his own over his chest and stomach toward the fire radiating from the centre of his masculinity. She closed her eyes as her fingers encountered him, the heat and the hardness stealing her breath as he encouraged her to caress his length with her small fingers.

Ardeth moaned softly at her timid touch, releasing her fingers from his own. She fought the urge to snatch her hand away and maintained the gentle stroking caress that he had shown her.

She started slightly as his touch returned to her own body, his hand brushing a soft caress over her thighs, a gentle pressure encouraging her legs to fall each away from the other, his fingers followed to enliven the sensitive flesh with a delicate caress that climbed toward the fire raging in her own centre.

She cried out softly as he touched her, her back arching slightly to both take her from and bring her nearer to the searching fingers that seemed to unlock every moment of pleasure she had ever known and throw them all to the desert winds.

He kissed her just as she would have sobbed his name, momentarily forgetting the motion of her hand against his risen desire, forgetting everything but the sensation of his fingers opening her to love, seemingly to life.

"Melleha," he breathed, ending the passionate kiss with a gentle strength. "Enti riRib..."

Her heart fluttered, she didn't understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable, as was the expression on his face, the moment had arrived when she would no longer be the child with whom she had lived for all of her life, but would be the woman that the future of her life demanded.

"Make love to me Ardeth, my husband," she answered softly.

She moved into his arms as he gathered her beneath him, closing her eyes as she felt the heat of him draw closer to the aching need that settled somehow deep within her belly and yet still burned in that place his fingers had caressed. He momentarily nudged against that space before the risen length of his began to press within.

Her breath caught as she felt herself opening, stretching with a feeling that moved from discomfort to pain as his weight took him deeper. She moaned, the soft edged moments of their love condensing into sharpness.

"Ardeth!" she could barely find the breath to voice his name.

"Forgive me, habibti," he answered, still moving, still filling her body with the hard edge of reality.

She felt him press against the shield of innocence within, kissing her to try and take the cry she made as he moved beyond it, but she tore her lips away from his and sobbed with the sudden increase. The sharpness biting as the pain of becoming drove away all remnants of the fantasy she had harboured... of a fleeting pain and then return to the pleasure of before.

"I can't!" She cried out again as he settled fully against her and stilled.

He lifted his head from her shoulder to kiss away the tears that spilled from her eyes.

"Ssshh, be still habibti, it will pass," he kissed her gently again, still not moving, their bodies deeply joined.

"Ardeth," she sobbed and at the movement she felt the trickle of her maiden blood along the crease of her thigh.

* * *

She stumbled as she entered the Prayer Hall and came to her knees on the rough floor. Resolutely, she pulled herself up again and continued to one side of the room. Almost everyone was still at the celebration so the Prayer Hall was deserted. 

"Healer?"

Almost deserted…

She turned quickly and stumbled again. She had not expected to see the Imam back to the Prayer Hall so soon.

"What can I do to help you, my Honoured Sister?" he asked as he approached her.

As he came near, the near shock into which he had slipped began to lift and she started to tremble. She could hear a small sound disturbing the air; half way between a whine and a moan.

"Healer, whatever--" the Imam reached out and touched her arm. In the same moment the strength drained from her legs. The Imam asked in alarm, "Are you ill?"

She leaned against the man, shaking as though she were freezing, reaching up to tear off the cover from her head.

"All of my life," she said tearfully, "I was sure… I was sure--"

"Let me bring you to another healer," he cupped her cheek in his hand to bring her eyes up to meet his.

"Hear me, Imam, please…" she begged him, for a moment almost coherent. "I do not understand."

"What is it that you wish?" he asked her, easing her up and taking her hand.

"All of my life," she rocked slightly as she spoke through the tears, "He demanded of me that I give my life to healing… and this I have done… He could have asked of me anything… anything and I would have given it to Him. I gave Him my life and now… I do not understand… How could he take him from me like this… what did I do wrong?"

"I…" the Imam faltered a little before speaking up, "Honoured Daughter, you have led an honest life. The life of a healer I know, is a hard road… hard… almost that of a priest, but… I am sure you have done nothing wrong. Whatever troubles you, I have faith that it is no punishment from Allah. Rest easy daughter…"

"Then _why?_" she clutched at his hands, repeating as a breathless whisper, "Why?"

"He does not ask of us anything we are not strong enough to give," he answered her, "Take comfort in that, Honoured Healer."

"But… I've lost him… _lost_," she could not find the breath to speak above a breathy whisper. A feeling was building inside her… coiling as though it was waiting to strike her down still more. "There is nothing… nothing… I could move now through this world and no one would know… no one would hear… Have I been too much? Said too much to this moment… is that it?"

"You are distraught," If the Imam knew what she was talking about, he said nothing of it; said only what the small rational part of her already knew and it was this that broke her completely; that released the creature inside her to strike at her.

And strike it did…

…all of the emotion she had tried to hold back through the day… the last few days… the weeks since she had heard of Ardeth's intention to marry swept over her… a huge black sandstorm of despair.

As though it were the last sound that she would ever make, she put back her head and howled in pain. It was the sound of a wounded and dying animal. It was the voice of her grief. It was the cry of one broken and lost as she crumbled away to nothing… only now the dust of life.

* * *

She clutched tightly at his back as they moved together, pressed her face against his neck and felt his kisses against her own, drowning and lost in the sea of sensation that was his body over hers… their consummation. 

The spiral tightened inside her until she gasped with it, lifting her head to meet Ardeth's crushing kiss as he trembled, and moved suddenly hard against her. He gave a long deep moan and broke the kiss suddenly.

Heat flooded through her and all of the tension exploded, breaking like a wave over her and through her. The room spun and she closed her eyes tightly and cried out, trembling in climax. It was the sound of a deep and primal nature. It was the voice of her pleasure. It was the cry of one fulfilled and empowered as she felt raised to an incredible height… and then drifted back to earth, the fount of life…

…wrapped in her husband's arms.


	11. Volition

Forbidden 

_Author's Note: Readers please be aware that the end of this chapter contains scenes of non-consensual, marital relations. It's not particularly graphic, but could be disturbing for some readers._

Chapter 11 – Volition 

She had no idea how early it was, but it was barely light enough to see. Melleha ached almost from head to foot, but nowhere more than deep in her hips.

With a sigh she reached out to the space, already all but cold, where Ardeth should have been. How long had they been married now – two days, maybe three? It was the same every day. She would wake and find him already gone out on patrol, or meeting with the Commanders that had not yet left to return to their own tribes.

"A lesser woman would hate you all for taking him from me," she murmured into the half-light. Then stretching, and trying to avoid that annoying little cramp that always threatened right in the middle of her back, she pushed herself to a sitting position, preparing to rise.

There was work to do. Robes needed to be mended. She had to turn the house into a home for the family she would give to Ardeth. She had to prepare the meal for later that day. She sighed again, and almost angrily threw back the heavy blankets as though to cover the spectre of Firyal's warning to her; words she had refused to hear; still refused to hear.

There was nothing wrong with working to make a home for oneself at one's husband's side and once he was not so busy, once the Commander's had left Al-Dakhla and she had him to herself once more, he would show his appreciation.

_She smiled as he drew her into his lap and snuggled in his arms as he nuzzled at the soft skin on the side of her neck._

"_Forgive my absences, beloved," he said softly between kisses. "It was not by choice that I left you so early and so soon, but the life of the First Medjai does not wait for a honeymoon. When there is peace in the desert and the peace is secured, not fragile as now, we will get away, you and I."_

"_It's all right," she whispered, "I understand. Besides, it had given me a chance to make a warriors house into our home."_

_He smiled and kissed her._

"_A home for our family," he said at last as the long kiss ended._

"_Perhaps," she smiled coyly, and laid her hand over her belly._

She smiled at the thought, her hand resting on her belly. Could be that she already nurtured his seed inside her. How would she know? She did not suppose she would know immediately, but it was possible, wasn't it?

* * *

The ache in her throat had not dulled in spite of the herbs she had been drinking. Lamis sighed and paused in braiding her hair, staring for a moment through the opening that served as the window in their guest dwelling.

Today they would leave; set out for home and once they arrived she could fully embrace the life that Allah had given to her in denying her Ardeth. She would swear fully as a healer, put herself beyond all warriors – sacred and untouchable.

The thought did not lift the tight ache in her breast nor bring a smile to her face, but it gave her the strength to continue braiding her long hair.

"I swear," she whispered, barely disturbing the silence at all, rehearsing her words. "I swear."

Finally she covered herself in the billowing blue of the Healer's Robes and turned to the task of packing for the journey. Her father had said that they would leave before the sun had risen to its fullest. She would not be the cause of delay. She had no reason to be.

* * *

"Ardeth, my boy, _what_ are you doing here instead of back in your home with your lovely wife?"

Ardeth looked up as Marzuq's voice came from the doorway. He smiled and rose to embrace the man.

"Desert life does not stop simply because the First Medjai has taken a wife, my friend," he said, and releasing the Commander of the Ninth Tribe, he indicated a seat for his dearest friend and returned to his own. "Besides, were I not here, you would not have found me. What can I do to assist you?"

Marzuq shook his head. "I came to wish you farewell, son."

"You are leaving so soon?"

"It is a long journey to Ninth, and I am anxious to return. As you say, desert life does not stop simply because our First Medjai has married."

"Touché." Ardeth chuckled then and reached to give the man a hearty slap on the shoulder. "You will give my best to your son?"

"Of course," Marzuq said nodding. "He was all set to bring his wife and new child across the desert so that he could attend your wedding in person. I think he misses you; sees you as a brother."

"He has a brother of his own," Ardeth answered, shaking his head. "We are good friends, yes, but I would never presume to come between men of blood."

Marzuq smiled. "I know that, Ardeth. I know."

Ardeth's smile faltered, and then faded. "Marzuq, do something for me."

The warrior held up his hand.

"I already know what you would say, and you know my answer. I will, always. She is my daughter. How could I not care for her as a father should?"

"I…" Ardeth hesitated before beginning again with a sigh. "My heart is unquiet and I fear for her, my friend."

"You worry too much," Marzuq said, but the smile he gave did not reach his eyes which mirrored Ardeth's concern. "I will see to it that all is well."

"I know," Ardeth nodded, and then frowned in puzzlement when in the next moment, Marzuq chucked.

"Besides, if rumours are true, your wife will have her married off within the year."

Ardeth bristled.

"I will not have her given to any man she does not choose for herself," he said.

"Peace, Ardeth, peace," Marzuq once more held up his hand. "No more would I."

* * *

He seemed to be spending more of his time running back and forth from one side of the dig to the other than actually doing any of the excavation himself. He sighed as yet again a runner interrupted his delicate brushwork again the rock.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked impatiently without looking around.

"Please Mister Francis," the accented voice of the young boy grated on his nerves… bloody natives, "they need you to come look, come see."

"See what boy?" he said, almost growling the question, "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Oh, Mister Francis, please." He glanced round at the boy who was wringing his hands. "It is much important… much, much important."

Irritated, Francis threw the brush down onto the cloth of his tool roll and got to his feet to follow. "Damn it all, boy, make it quick. There's far too much work to do around here without you keep me running from one side of the dig to the other."

For good measure he cuffed the youngster aside the head before following, more in front than behind, making the unfortunate child jog to keep up with him. He didn't, after all, _need_ a guide to the other side of his own camp.

"What the hell is it now?" he asked as he came up on his junior partner. Regis simply pointed out into the desert.

Francis squinted against the sun, trying to make out what it was that he saw there on the horizon. It looked like dust… or sand… sand rising from the desert floor.

"Sandstorm?" he suggested, more as a question than anything.

"I don't know," Regis answered, "but I don't think so. The locals would have said something. They know the weather out here, they have to. It's the difference between life and death to these people."

"Well then, what?" Francis was growing more and more irritated by the moment.

"Well some of the diggers think—"

"Don't tell me they think it's some kind of curse come to wreak the vengeance of some ancient long dead priest or something?" he said, contemptuously.

"Not a bit of it," Regis answered, amused, "Some of the men have been murmuring some kind of name… they say it's the—"

"Medjai…!" the fearful murmur began in the mouth of one of the nearby diggers and spread through the rest of the natives like a plague.

"Medjai?" Francis snapped the question more irritated than actually curious to know what on earth they were talking about.

"From what I can tell they're—"

"Medjai…!" the digger repeated, more fearfully this time, his eyes widening.

"For goodness sake man, pull yourself together!" Francis sneered at the trembling native and took a step toward him. He jumped a moment later when the man grabbed him and almost shook him, repeating the strange word with increasing agitation.

"Medjai… Medjai!" The digger was insistent, and this time pointed out into the desert.

Francis turned crossly in the direction the other man was pointing, about to start shouting order to all of them to get back to work, but the words died on his lips. What had once been a cloud of dust on the horizon was now much closer, and was filled with the dark shapes of horsemen… accompanied now by the sound of hoof beats that grew quickly louder.

"Steady men," Francis shook off the native that was still clinging to his arm and took a few steps to the storage tent, returning carrying a handgun. Leading by example as he ordered, "Weapons everyone!"

He didn't have the chance even to raise the gun, let alone to fire. The mass of dark clad horsemen swept through the camp as though they were indeed a sandstorm and when the dust settled enough for Francis to uncurl from the protective crouch he'd adopted when the first of the horses leaped clear over his head and climb to his feet, his men were surrounded.

Twenty, perhaps thirty black clad figures, some on horseback, some standing, surrounded them. All of the warriors had weapons drawn; high powered rifles that were pointing inward towards him and his men. Francis thought it prudent to drop the gun he was holding and raise his hands.

From the midst of the warriors a single figure stepped forward. He was tall and from out of his headgear the ends of his wavy dark hair escaped and curled around his shoulders. As he moved he pulled down the fold of cloth covering his face to reveal a neatly trimmed goatee around full lips that were set into an uncompromising line. He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized those he now held captive.

"Which of you men is in charge here?"

Francis swallowed back his surprise at the perfect, though accented English, and tried to stifle the small yelp that escaped none-the-less as the warrior that had spoken turned in his direction, following the pointed fingers of many terrified diggers.

"This site," the warrior nodded his head slightly in the direction of the tomb behind Francis, "is under the protection of the Medjai. You have no business here."

"Now just a—!"

"You have one day," the warrior continued as though Francis had not spoken at all. "Leave this place or die."

Francis was about to protest once more, when the man switched to Arabic almost without a breath, and ordered the diggers to return to their families.

"Do not set foot on this hallowed ground again, or your life will be forfeit," he said, and to a man the diggers ran for what meager possessions they owned and took off. Some of them ran straight out into the desert even as Francis tried to find his voice to shout to them to come back.

Those of the warriors that had dismounted were already mounting again, and one led a coal black stallion to the warrior, presumably the leader, who still stood gazing relentlessly into Francis' shocked visage.

"One day!" he said, and threw himself into the saddle. "Yallah, nimshe!"

Long after the horsemen… the Medjai… were once again a cloud of dust on the horizon Francis still stood in shock, staring out after them.

* * *

"I'm sorry Ardeth isn't here to say you goodbye on your journey," She tried not to hold herself too stiffly as the woman that was now Ardeth's wife enfolded her in a gentle hug, and to let the words only wash over her as she continued, "but I'm knowing he would give you all his best."

"Thank you," she said softly, even to herself she sounded on the edge of tears and almost buckled under the weight of her loneliness. "You are very kind, Sayiida."

"Oh, no… no," Lamis didn't resist when Melleha lifted her face so that their eyes could meet, "You must I am name me Melleha. You are Ardeth's friend after all."

"And so you are doubly kind," she said, trying to smile, and concentrating hard to make sense of the mixed up Arabic that the woman spoke.

"Lamis?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you hide yourself in under these robes?"

This time she did stiffen. She could not help the thoughts that rushed upon her at the gentle, innocent question. _Because the man I love was born on a twelfth year and I cannot be with him… because _you_ took the man I love for yourself without even a thought… because Ardeth is not here to lift them from me…_ She answered, "It is my choice."

"I cannot believing that, Lamis… you are so younger… so pretty, I--."

"It is my _choice_," she repeated. "Please do not concern yourself with me."

"What?" Melleha seemed to almost leap away in shock at the words, "Of course I'm going to will worry about you, Lamis. You're my husband's friend."

The knot in her stomach tightened again. Nothing would ever let her be used to those words coming from another woman's lips. She shook her head. "You need not," she whispered.

Melleha too, shook her head. "No Lamis. I don't believe your choice you are making for the right-hand-side reasons, and I'll make it my promise to you that I will found you a better life with a man that will love you deserve."

"Melleha, no…"

"Lamis, yes." Her hands were taken into the warmth of Melleha's hands. "Trust me. You'll be happy. I'll perceive to that. You were so kindness to me and won't forget that."

"Lamis, we have to go," her father's voice did little to soothe the rising panic at the thought that Melleha would see her given to a total stranger. Had the woman seen the truth in her eyes… did she know it was Ardeth that she loved?

"Don't…" she whispered.

"Never you worry," Melleha started to lead her to the horse that her father held waiting for her. "Leave it to me."

Her father took hold of her at once and all but lifted her into the saddle and out of Melleha's gentle grasp. She wanted to scream at the woman to leave her to the choice she'd made… to leave her to the promise she'd given to Allah, but instead as her father mounted his own horse, and began to lead them away she had no choice but to follow.

Turning her head she looked back at Melleha. "Please… don't…" she whispered into the air.

* * *

"Site after site the story is the same," Meela pushed aside the guards and strode into Wahid's pleasure chamber, "Every one of them shut down. You—!"

She grabbed the harem girl who sat astride Wahid's lap by the hair and dragged her away from him.

"Your plan was supposed to keep the Medjai busy. You assured me that you could subdue them."

"Their war with Farhas," Wahid began to dress hastily waving the girl away even as she sought to crawl her way back to him, "should have—"

"Their _war _with Farhas is over, little man!" Meela interrupted.

"Well then, my dear, we shall have to think of a way to begin it over again." Wahid, dressed now, crossed to the bureau and poured two very large drinks. One of these he handed to Meela as he reached her side. "I gave you a promise and Whisper always delivers. It's part of what made me who I am, Meela."

Smiling a cold and more than a little calculating smile, she took a seat on the side of his cushioned bed, crossing one lithe knee over the other.

"I never doubted it," she said setting the drink he had given her to rest precariously on the silk sheet beside her. "So what do you suggest? You know Farhas better than I do. What bait could he possibly take that would escalate the conflict again enough to draw the Medjai away from Hamunaptra?"

The sarcasm in her tone could have left him with little doubt that she already had something in mind. She heard it in his irritated tone. "If you already know, Vixen, why come storming in here? Simply to disturb my pleasure?"

She cocked an eyebrow in the direction of the dancing girl who now cowered in the corner.

"That was pleasure?" She ran painted fingernails along the cool smoothness of his sheets, never once taking her eyes from his. "My dear Wahid, you don't know the meaning of the word. Has your family really fallen so fa—?"

"Don't you _dare_ mention my family like that again!"

Faster than she had seen a man move in many a year he was against her… on her… his fingers tight around her throat. Still she remained calm. "Temper, temper…" she mouthed, knowing no breath could pass the constriction his fingers caused. With no apparent regard for herself she shifted her fingers and tipped the balance on the perching glass.

As she knew he would Wahid yelped and, releasing her so fast she almost fell, he let go of her and snatched up one of the dancer's discarded veils.

"My sheets!"

Padding, as a coiled feline, Meela got to her feet and crossed the room to the bureau to pick up a sealed bottle of whisky. She broke the seal and took a tantalizing sip from the bottle as Wahid turned to her.

"Whoops," she said softly and then continuing added, "Rumour has it that the Medjai had a wedding not so long ago."

Wahid swallowed the retort he had so obviously been about to make and instead asked, "Oh?"

"Between a certain young woman and their chief."

"The girl?"

Meela nodded. "And I don't think that Farhas would be too pleased to have lost so prized a possession."

"And just how do you propose that we tell him?"

"That is where I need your help," She took another sip, "Because you know where to find him."

Wahid laughed humourlessly.

"You don't honestly think you can walk right into the Farhaseed stronghold and expect Farhas to come to heal like a whipped puppy?" He stalked across to take the bottle from her hand and took a healthy pull from it before wiping the side of his thumb across his lips. "First he'd have you dragged into his bed until you begged him for mercy with your last bleeding conscious breath… then he'd toss you like a bone to a hound, leaving what was left of you to his men. He doesn't like to receive bad news… and he certainly won't hear it from a woman."

Meela's temper flared inside at the tone of Wahid's voice as he spoke the last word. "He could try." She answered coldly calm.

"Did you hear what I said?" Wahid put down the bottle and gave her a look as though he thought she were insane, suicidal or both. "He doesn't like to receive bad news."

"But my dear Whisper," she ran her fingers down across his chest, "this won't _be_ bad news."

Wahid raised an eyebrow.

"At least not for the Farhaseed." She turned and coquettishly smiled over her shoulder as she left. "Just get me to Farhas and leave the rest to me."

* * *

The moment he set eyes on Celia, Jonathan hurried across the room to take her by the arms, fearing she would fall. She was pale, with the expression of a panicked bird in her eyes.

"Celia, what's—?"

"Oh Jonathan," she began to weep at once, and his worry increased threefold. He tried to imagine all the things that could have happened to cause such a terrible reaction. Was she sick? Was it something else? Had someone threatened her?

Then he saw the telegram that stood open on the sideboard and his heart sank lower still. Francis.

"He's packing up, Jon," she told him, and turning his gaze down to her he saw her also looking in the direction of the telegram. "He's taking me back to England."

"We'll see about that!" The words were out of his mouth before he even knew what he was saying.

"My brave Jonathan," Celia smiled just a little and reached up to lay a hand against his cheek. "But I can't let you ruin yourself like that."

"Don't you worry about me, Celia," he took her into his arms, in that moment not caring who might walk into the unlocked room. "I've faced worse threats than Francis."

"No," she shook her head, "He'll kill you, my love… and even if he didn't… his family has influence. _He_ has influence. He'd ruin you, Evy, everyone connected with all of this."

Jonathan sighed, "But… but I can't let him do this. I won't let him take you away from me."

"Oh how I wish that were true," she wept against his chest.

"It is," he said firmly, "Celia you have to believe that I'll do everything…" he stopped as he realized she was looking up at him and shaking her head, spilling more tears over her already wet cheek.

"Society was never kind to loves like ours… never made for loves like ours. All through history, Jonathan, and I won't be responsible for starting a feud between your family and mine. I _can't_ don't you understand?"

Jonathan sighed. He did understand. He understood all too well, and under the weight of all the knowledge his heart was crushed just that little bit more. His throat constricted as he tried to hold back the emotion that rose in him with the force of a Saharan storm. He watched Celia close her eyes as she had watched the understanding enter his.

"I'll see you before you leave?" he asked, his voice barely over the hush of a tearful whisper.

She shook her head. "He'll be here by morning, Jonathan and means to leave straight away."

"Oh, Celia," he whispered and gently cupped her tear-wetted cheeks in his hands. "I love you so much… there has to be something…"

She opened her eyes, releasing the pools of water locked behind her eyelids to spill over his fingers.

"I'll do what I can to have him release me from the engagement," she said, but in her voice he heard the resigned heartbreak that she doubted she would be able, "but this has to be our goodbye, Jonathan… just in case."

"Celia…" the strangled words died in his throat and he closed his eyes to shut out the horrible realisation that he would once again be alone; that this might be the last moment of true happiness he would ever know. Without another moment wasted, he lowered his lips to her. If it must be goodbye, then he meant to make it as sweet a farewell as the life in his body allowed. But it was a bittersweet embrace they sought each from the other.

Hands that were still learning her shape, her desires moved with gentle desperation over the silken landscape of her skin as he began to uncover every part of her to his touch. He leaned into the fluttering uncertainty of her loving fingers as she in turn touched him. Even before the heavy dress she wore fell to the rug before the hearth he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed… to lay her down beneath him as he settled against her.

Surrendering to passion she pressed closer still, raising herself to him before the passing of another moment, to fold her softness around him with a suddenness that left them both gasping for breath after the cry of their joining.

No more uncertainty… timidity drowned under a wave of passion as they moved together, pressing close and moving away; rising and falling. Her softness and strength stroking him as he moved and she with him, as though she could not feel him deep enough to satisfy the need for such possession as he took from her… gave to her.

It was a true joining, abandonment to ardour… and one last time for the both of them to know the ecstasy of such a love, and later… spent… they both wept at the ending of it.

* * *

Home…

Never such a double edged word as now, when the lands of Ninth tribe came into view in the hazy sunshine of late afternoon. Lamis raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she sought some sign, some landmark that would kindle in her some hint of comfort.

There were the dunes where as a child she had played; the vague shapes of the large canvas dwellings in which they made their homes; the sparkling silver-blue of the water that gave them life, but all of them… every single one of them held traces of the pain she needed so badly to escape. He was a part of every single moment of her life.

Instinctively her eyes sought the large structure that was home to the fabled healers of the Medjai. Exclusively female, women that had by choice closed themselves to contact with the warriors of the tribes; denied themselves the chance for family and in return – so the rumors claimed – were rewarded by Allah, and the old gods of the land in which they lived with the almost supernatural ability to heal those that should have been beyond saving.

"Then perhaps they can heal me," she whispered, even though she knew the reality behind the rumours merely reflected the excellent knowledge and ability of the healers.

She touched her fingers to the apprentice mark on the side of her face. She, as many women of the Medjai, had begun to walk the Path of the Healer. Such women were honoured as healers even if they did not complete the journey and swear themselves to the sisterhood, for they were taught the superior skills of medicine and healing by the elder females that had, and such knowledge, such skills were valuable to the Medjai.

"And now, I will finish it," she whispered again, "for Allah and for my people."

* * *

"I said stop it!" he threw back the doorway as he entered the house and Melleha jumped, backing away from him as he moved toward her.

"Ardeth?" she asked. Her voice shook.

"You know full well what I mean," he continued angrily, only partly contrite against her obvious fear of him in that moment, "do not try to play games with me."

"I'm not," she clutched his arms as he took her elbows into his hand and brought her closer to him. "I'm not, Ardeth, please… what did I do wrong?"

He answered her more quietly, but in a tone that did not show his displeasure any the less. "I have asked you repeatedly in the past weeks to stop trying to arrange a match for the daughter of Marzuq. You have not. Why? Why do you go against my wishes in this, my wife?"

"She is so lonely," she all but yelped, "Please let me go… you're hurting me."

He let her go at once, and breathed to try and control his temper. It was one thing to raise his voice to her, but another entirely to hurt her, even by accident.

"Forgive me," he said softly.

"It's nothing," she replied automatically, but rubbed her upper arms where he had been holding her. She moved away to pour him a cup of water. Her hand shook as she brought it to him.

"Why, Melleha?" he asked again as he took the cup from her hand. He tried to soften his voice, but still his anger at her repeated defiance of his request had the better of him.

"She's lonely. She deserves to have someone of her own. I understand that t—"

"You understand _nothing!_" he almost spat, and putting down the cup with such a force that the water leaped to pool on the top of the table, he paced away. "I am just come from the Imam. He told me of her visit to him. She has given herself to the path Allah has chosen for her. She will be sworn a healer."

As he spoke the words his stomach dropped into the packed ground that was beneath the colourful rugs on the floor of his home. He had driven her to this, he knew, and the ache of it weighed his heart so much that it followed his stomach on a downward path.

"Ardeth, no," Melleha gasped, behind him. "She can't. She—"

"It is her choice," he told her, his voice thick with emotion.

"She doesn't _know_ what she wants. She hasn't given herself time."

"Her," his voice cracked, "choice."

As Melleha's trembling hand came down between his shoulders, his body shivered as though the shaking had transferred from her hand to him.

"You don't believe it is the right choice any more than I," she said softly.

_I wish she had not made this decision._ He only shrugged, unable for several moments to speak. Then Melleha stepped closer and laid her head against the middle of his back, her hands on each of his shoulders.

"Right or wrong her decision is made," he said softly, "And if it is Allah's will then so be it."

* * *

"Why have you come to me, Lamis?" The Master-Healer, a wizened old woman entirely cloaked in the deep blue robes that all the healers wore sat back on her heels and poured tea into two small cups. "You are not sick, and do not need my services, so why?"

She handed over one of the cups with a hand that was steadier than Lamis's, which shook so much she all but spilled the tea.

"I wish to be sworn a healer, Honoured Mother," she answered quietly.

The Master-Healer sipped her tea, then sat looking at Lamis with a gaze that the young woman could feel passing right through into her soul. She felt profoundly uncomfortable and tried to look away. When she could not she tried to fill her mind with the memory of her promise to Allah, and not to think of Ardeth at all.

"You are 'prenticed to us, yes?" the Master-Healer stated as much as she asked.

"Yes, Honoured Mother," Lamis said, "and now I wish to complete my training and become sworn, as are you."

"No."

Lamis' eyes filled with tears. "But Honoured Mother—"

"I cannot allow you to run from life simply because of the loss of the love of a warrior," she interrupted. "However much that man might mean to you now, you are young… you do not know of life as do I… and I tell you, there is much out there for you yet."

"My father has spoken to you," Lamis said, weeping openly now.

"None have spoken to me," the Master-Healer corrected her, "except your own heart."

"Please, Honoured Mother, I need to do this."

"I will admit that your heart does need healing." The Master-Healer sipped her tea once more. "So I will make this offer to you. We will take you into our number while you complete your 'prentice time. At the end of this, when it would be time for you to walk as a Journeyman Healer, then we will look again, and see to the matter of your bruised heart. If at that time it is still your wish to be so sworn, and there is nothing that could prevent it, then I shall see it so."

Lamis put down her cup and took the old woman's outstretched hand and pressed her forehead against the leathery skin.

"Thank you, Honoured Mother," she said, "I promise I will be a good 'prentice to you… and when it is time, my mind will still be the same."

"Ah, but it is not your mind of which I have spoken," the Master-Healer said softly, covering the back of Lamis' head with her hand. "Go now to your father's house and make your farewells. At dusk, you will enter our house."

Lamis kissed the back of the old woman's hand and rose obediently to do her bidding.

* * *

"Good morning Daddy," Celia came to kiss his cheek as she entered the study.

"Ah Celia, there you are. Good. Martha wants you for a fitting in ten minutes," he said, barely even looking up from his newspaper.

"What?" she asked.

"A fitting, girl… for the dress," he said.

"Dress?" Celia was beginning to think perhaps that she should retire once more and begin the day again. Surely she was not so tired from the journey that nothing would make sense the whole morning long.

"The wedding dress," he finally put his paper aside and looked at her with an expression of annoyance, "Oh good Lord, Celia, do wake up."

"Isn't it a little early to be thinking about wedding dresses, Daddy?" she said, still more than a little off balance.

"Hardly," he said, "Unless you want to be walking down the isle on Saturday in nothing at all."

"Saturday?" she exclaimed, backing up a step. "_This_ Saturday?"

"Yes this Saturday," her father said in annoyance, "surely Francis told you. It was why you came back."

"No, Daddy," she said, panic threatening to overwhelm her, "Francis did _not_ tell me anything of the sort. I… I can't get married this Saturday, I'm not ready, I—"

"You'll bloody well do as you're told, my girl," he said uncompromisingly.

"But Daddy—"

"But nothing Celia," he stood up from his chair and fixed her with the hard expression that was in his eyes, "This wedding is going to go ahead whether you like it or not. The Grays have been family friends for as far back as I, and your grandfather, God rest his soul, can remember. They have been good to us, and helped us out a great deal. Francis asked for your hand and by God I mean to give it to him. So you… you get yourself in to Martha right this minute and come Saturday you damn well better be ready to do your duty to your family or so help me I'll see you stripped and sent to the poor house!"

Celia drew herself up straight.

"I see," she said coldly. "Well then… I suppose I will go and find Martha."

Somehow she managed to maintain her dignity until she had left her father's study, whereupon she threw herself onto the couch and sobbed harder than she had ever done before. She had to get away… go back to tell Jonathan that she was wrong; that she needed him… she couldn't be here like this.

Gripped by panic she quickly got up from the couch and started for the door. A telegram… she knew where he was, she would simply wire him that she was in dire straights and needed his help. He'd come right away and rescue her; she knew he would, even in spite of what she had told to him back in Egypt.

A photograph hanging on the wall beside the door caught her attention and stopped her wild flight in an instant. In the photograph her father stood shaking hands with Francis' father in front of the family offices.

_They have been good to us, and helped us out a great deal._

The sudden realisation cut her down as a scythe through ripe wheat. The Grays were her father's silent business partners. If they did not get what they wanted…

She looked all around the room, at the fine furnishings… the servants who were even now moving to clean out the fireplaces… everything… all of it rested on her duty to her family.

How could she let them down… how could she let her _mother_ lose all of this..?

With silent tears running from her eyes, she left the room and went in search of Martha. Perhaps still there would be another way out…

* * *

Ilham paused in stripping most of the foliage from the stem of the desert rose and glanced over at the younger woman whose body was being massaged with fine oils by the other women in the harem.

She was barely into her late teens. Her body was lithe and held the slender grace of youth accented by muscles that were toned by her years of dancing. She had danced since she was a child, Ilham knew, danced for Farhas and for his men. She was good too. Ilham had watched her performances often enough from Farhas lap to know that… and to know why he would send for her now.

"Watch what you are doing?" Zharah hissed from beside her elbow and Ilham started and guiltily looked down at her hands that were stripping the rose.

"Isn't she his daughter?" she asked a few moments later when she heard Farhas' Head Wife sigh.

"Maybe not," Zharah answered. "Her mother was given to one of his men before she began breeding with the girl. But either way, Farhas does not care. He wants her in his bed. He will take her to wife."

"But," Ilham protested softly, "she's so young."

"She is older than you were when you bore him Kamishri," Zharah answered.

Ilham turned her gaze across the room to where her six year old daughter was playing with the other girls. Her daughter looked up and the scene blurred in front of Ilham's eyes. She saw Kamishri barely grown, with flowers woven into her braided hair. Drapes of silk covered her oiled breast buds and trimmed pubis… and in the corners of her vision, shadow puppets played out the violence of her daughter being claimed by Farhas.

"Zharah…" she managed to call the other woman's name weakly as the wave of nausea swept over her.

She felt Zharah catch hold of her arm and bring her to a water filled bowl at the side of the room. The woman's cool hands stayed, one on the back of her neck, the other holding back her hair as she emptied her stomach into the bowl, then swilled her mouth with a cup of mint water that was brought to her by another woman of the harem.

"You are breeding?" Zharah asked softly, slipping a hand into her top to gently press against her breast.

"I think," Ilham nodded, tears coming into her eyes as she admitted it to herself as well as to Zharah. "I have not bled."

Zharah nodded. "Go to your rest. We will finish here."

As she lay down on her bed, Kamishri slipped beside her and nuzzled against her chest. Ilham wrapped her arms around the little girl and wept as she had not done since she was first brought to Farhas nine years before as a barely grown girl of twelve winters old.

* * *

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together in holy matrimony this man, and this woman." The priest paused as everyone in the church came quickly to order. Celia glanced across at her father who had pinned her to the spot with the most uncompromising of expressions. He had made it completely clear on more than one occasion in the week that he would not brook any attempt of hers to avoid the marriage.

He was little better than the savages he claimed to rule in countries like the one from which she had only just returned. In fact, she corrected herself; they were less savage than he.

No… she knew she had only one chance now to get out of the marriage to the viper of a man that Francis truly was.

"If any man knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace."

Celia squeezed her eyes closed, praying hard that someone… anyone might stand forward with a reason… a cause…

_Jonathan…_

His name rang through her like a bell… a quiver of need – an ache for him – swelled inside her…and then died as she knew in her heart that he would not come… Could not… And even if he had she would not have allowed him to bring dishonour on himself or his family simply because she did not want to obey her father's wishes to marry Francis.

She was a prisoner of Society in to which she was born… and now what little life society afforded to her was over… it could not get worse than this.

* * *

Along with the others, who cast flowers at her every step, Shamari Farhas stepped toward the double doors at the end of the hall. The feeling that had begun to knot in her stomach tightened the nearer she came and her steps began to slow…

* * *

"Let _go _of me!" Celia pulled against the hold he had on her arm, feeling the pattern of the lace pressing into her skin. "I'm not _ready_ for this, Francis."

"You're my wife," he said, all but roaring the words into her face as he hurried her steps toward the bedroom door, "You're ready when _I_ say you are."

"Don't _do_ this," she pleaded with him as he opened the door and virtually threw her inside, following her through in the next moment. She wrapped her arms around herself as he turned and locked the door.

* * *

"My darling Shamari," she started as the voice sounded from beyond the doors that were swinging open to admit her to the presence of her husband. The doors closed again behind her hardly before she had time to blink.

"My husband," she said, and obediently went to him as he held out his hand. She was trembling with every step.

Farhas closed his hand around the tender skin of her fingers and drew her down beside him on the cushioned bed. Then she watched as those thick, scarred fingers moved to the side of her face, and unclipped the veil she wore.

"So beautiful," she heard the greedy tone as his fingers first touched her cheek.

* * *

He threw off his jacket as he turned and stalked toward her, the twin lines of his suspenders like pillars against the stark white of his dress shirt. Celia backed away, trying to keep some distance between them.

"Francis, don't…" she almost tripped on the hem of her dress as it caught on the edge of the rug and the misstep meant the difference between evasion and liberty. He caught hold of her arms and pulled her against the hardness in his body. She tried to push him away, her hands beating against his chest.

"Oh no," he said and shook her enough that her hair began to tumble from the confines of the clips that held it piled against the top of her head. "You refused me once. I'll not have you do it again."

Before she could draw breath he pressed his mouth against her, greedily plundering her mouth with the demands of his kiss.

* * *

Shamari grasped a hold of the front of his robe and shook with barely contained terror as his lips captured hers and held her in the first kiss he took from her; made a small sound as his tongue moved inside her mouth and felt the tears pricking at the back of her eyes at his answering moan.

Her belly compressed and her nipples puckered with nervousness as he cupped his hands around her breasts, feeling the heat of his touch through the barely shielding fabric in which she had been dressed.

She heard him moan again… and whimpered in answer, fearing she had done something wrong.

* * *

She let out a short scream, part born of fear, and part of pain as his hands that had been gripping her arms moved to the shoulders of her dress and in one sharp tug ripped the bodice to the waist.

"How _dare_ you!" she said, recovering herself enough to sound at least partly indignant.

"Oh, I dare far more than that," he said and roughly all but dragged her across the room, to throw her onto the bed. She had no time to recover herself before he had slipped his suspenders and pinned her down with the weight of his body.

"Francis, no!" she struggled beneath him, trying to keep her dignity as he pawed at her skirts and pushed his knees between hers.

* * *

What little clothing she had lay scattered around the bed like so many puffs of cloud and she trembled, partly with feeling cold, and partly with the embarrassment of her condition.

Where he had placed her hands they shook against his body, and when he moved over her all but fell away entirely. She feared reprisal for that, but it did not seem to bother him. He only let out another low moan and pressed the wetness of more kisses against her neck where his head rested.

She felt his hands slide over her arms to find her wrists; to grasp them in his hands and raise her arms over her head as he hovered above her, his knees parted her legs and that part of him that would take her pressed painfully against her hip.

The weight of it all came flooding over her as he shifted both of her wrists into one large hand and fumbled between them with the other. She sobbed once aloud, never once even hoping that her distress would bring mercy from him…

Farhas, she understood, did not know the meaning of the word and she cried out her pain as he claimed her.

* * *

Celia cried out as he pushed himself inside of her. It was a cry of betrayal, of anger and yes… a little pain, but the pain was as much emotional as it was physical, and the cry became a growl of denial against the tears that began to fall from her eyes as he thrust against her again, pushing himself further inside.

As soon as he was on her, though, the pinion of his weight left her and she was emptied of his touch.

"What is this!" his voice was like thunder around the room and she realised with mounting horror that she had been discovered, as she feared she might. "Whore! Who have you dirtied yourself with? O'Connell?"

With strength that a moment before she did not know she had, Celia sat up and on the same momentum drew back her hand and slapped him, hard across the cheek.

"Your precious native diggers," she spat into his face and screamed the lie at him, thinking only to protect Jonathan for the love he had shown to her. But for Da'ud, the lie could have been the truth, "dragged me from the back of the camel and took their turns with me. Took me in the dirt like an _animal_."

He had not missed the implication; the accusation that she was throwing at him with her words and slapped her hard with the back of his hand.

"I'll show you 'like an animal'" he told her, and slapped her again, harder still this time, leaving her head ringing in the silence that followed. "Now get out of that dress, or so help me I'll—"

"You'll _what?_" she said, forgetting herself and the mocking tone in her voice.

"You _will_ obey me, woman," he said and knocked her back onto the bed with another ringing blow. She tried to roll aside, but he was on her before she could move, pressing a pillow over her face while his body pinned her once more beneath him.

She struggled for her life… fighting for breath… for life giving air. She was only vaguely aware when the hands with which she was beating against the man that society called her husband faded like cut flowers, to lie against the counterpane.

She barely registered that he lifted away the pillow for the sudden pain that blossomed between her legs as he once more pushed himself inside of her and used her; used her hard.

"It is my _right!_" he chanted with each pain that spread through her…

…and she sobbed as he roared in triumph at the moment his heat swelled inside her.

* * *

"Hush now, Shamari," Zharah tenderly ran her hand through the young woman's hair as she lay curled into a ball on her side, weeping for all she had lost that night. "It is over now. Come… join your sisters and let us care for you."

She wrapped her arms around Shamari when the young woman threw herself into her lap and all but carried her to the warm bath they had prepared for her pains.


	12. Manipulation

Forbidden Chapter 12 – Manipulation 

"Quickly," Melleha said and guided the men carrying the injured warrior to where they could set him down for the healers, "put him there."

She held the blanket ready for when she could cover him. Little enough, but all that she could do for those that came so terribly injured as him.

"Have courage, my warrior," she said as she laid the coarse blanket over him, "someone will come to you soon."

Then she got to her feet and almost ran after the others who were already mounting to return to the battle lines.

"How many others?" she asked taking hold of the bridle as the horse danced beside her under the weight of his rider as though nervous and impatient to be away.

"Melleha, come away from the horses," Zhadina said, even as she shook off the other woman's hand from her arm. "It is not safe for you."

"There are many more, Sayiida, please," the warrior said, "do as she tells you. I must return to the battle."

* * *

Ardeth ducked behind the stone as another bullet whistled through the air beside him, momentarily pinned into place. When the break came he was ready to move, scrambling over the slight rise, letting off a volley of his own toward the enemy. After several steps he was forced to abandon his rifle and take up his blade as one of the Farhaseed warriors rushed at him.

As he rose to meet the servant of Farhas a new rain of bullets swept toward him. With a cry the Medjai warrior beside him fell.

"Healer!" he called even as his own path took him away from his fallen comrade into battle with his enemy.

Their blades were a blur in the late morning sunlight, their bodies locked in the deadly dance around them. Ardeth compensated for a shift in sand under his feet that brought him closer to the warrior than he would have liked. He was too close to use his blade, which anyway ran in an ever decreasing circle around his enemy's sword to keep it away from his side. Instinct brought his forearm up hard against the side of the man's face. The blow disrupted the Farhaseed warrior's balance. The deadlock was broken and Ardeth was freed to continue the battle on a more even footing.

* * *

"Melleha, you shouldn't _be_ here," Firyal said and paused in tending the warrior whose wound she cleaned to push at her as Melleha came into one of the tents put up to house the injured from the battle.

"But I can help," she argued.

"Ardeth wouldn't want—"

"He wouldn't want his warriors to suffer longer than they need because one person that _could_ have helped did not because everyone kept telling her to stay away."

"You are not just _anyone_," Firyal said, "you are his _wife._"

"And as the wife of the First Medjai my place is here, helping with those that need it. It is not as though I am Cala, gone to tend the fallen at the front of the battle."

"That isn't the point."

"Then what is?" Melleha snapped, frustration at being coddled eating at her. "That I don't know what I'm doing? That even after well over half a year amongst you, you still do not consider me one of your people? What?"

Firyal nodded to one of the other women in the shelter and hastily rose. She snatched Melleha's arm into her own steely grasp, and try as she might, Melleha could not free herself from her one time friend as the other woman all but dragged her to a quieter space toward the rear of the tent.

"Do not be a fool, Melleha," Firyal hissed, "You know that it is nothing of those things."

"Do I?" she asked petulantly, and pouted deeply. "Every single day… all the time people are quick to tell me what I cannot do. No one ever tells me what I _can_ do. I feel… I feel useless around here."

"You are not useless. You have your place as do we all and your place is not among the healers. I know your worry, Melleha, but we would call you to tend to him were your husband among those brought from the battlefield."

Melleha swallowed hard. It hadn't even occurred to her that perhaps Ardeth would fall. She never dreamed it. Always she saw him as a figure shining with righteous light, upholding the ways of good on a battlefield dark with the evil of the Farhaseed, where every warrior cried like hounds for his blood and yet none could touch him. He was First Medjai. He would not fall.

She shook her head, denying Firyal's words. "I only want to help," she said.

"Then go home," Firyal said quietly, "and stay there as you have been bidden. You cannot afford to stress yourself."

* * *

Cala let out a small scream and cowered behind one of the four warriors assigned to keep her safe as one of the enemy came at them swinging twin swords. One of her other guardian's eased her away, almost wrapping her in his arms as the remaining three led her toward where their leader had called for a healer.

They crouched with her, keeping themselves between her and the battle, human shields for so precious and sacred a lady as a healer. For a second she marvelled at such bravery among them, but only for a second. As soon as she saw the wounded man everything but her training as a medic faded into insignificance.

She opened her satchel and took out the scissors she needed to cut away the cloth from where blood flowed from the bullet wound. It was a nasty wound. The bullet had torn deep into his thigh. She could remove the bullet, stop the bleeding, but the rest would be in Allah's hands, since the warrior had already lost so much blood. He would not fight again today and so, as she tended to him as best she could on the battlefield, she tied a strip of red cloth around his arm. The warriors that were retrieving the injured would know to take him with all haste to their oasis home where he could be properly cared for.

She had already used so many today. She feared she would use many more.

"Healer!"

She raised her head at that call even as her fingers still worked to secure the tight bandage around the wounds she had just tended. She was in time to see the warrior she was being called to tend fall to the sand. There was a huge long gash that began at his shoulder and ran along the front of his chest, but as he fell the spray of blood across the sand, pulsing in time with his heartbeat told her that even if she were at his side now, there would be little she could do for him.

Sadly she reached into her satchel again and took out a short length of dark blue cloth. She handed it to one of her guards.

"He was as brave and true a warrior as the Medjai have known," she said, knowing it proper to speak of the dying with good words. "Tend to your brother's needs now, for there is nothing _I_ can do."

With a slight nod of his head, her guard rose and went to comfort his warrior brother in his final moments.

* * *

Melleha snatched off her veil in frustration as she entered the outer room of her home. She tossed it against the desk beside the doorway and all but threw herself into the low couch in front of the hearth.

It was ridiculous, the way they were all behaving. They needed all the help they could muster to tend to the warriors and yet time after time they sent her away as though their blood would somehow contaminate her… place her in danger.

The warriors… they were the ones in danger, not the women at home. Was she expected then to just sit and await her husband's return?

"_Ardeth…"_

_She leaped to her feet as he threw back the canvass covering the doorway and staggered a little as he entered their home. She came to him and wrapped her arm around him to bring him to sit before the fire._

"_I am not hurt," he told her, but looking at the many slices on his arms and shoulders she found she had to argue with him. He must have seen her look because he added, "Not as some."_

"_Aiwa, my husband," she said softly, bringing a bowl of warm water in her hands and lowering herself to her knees in front of him where she might reach to help him clean away the trials of the day, "not as some of the others."_

_She waited while he shrugged off his robe and pulled the shirt off over his head. She took them from him and tossed them away to the side. Best to deal with them later…_

_Gently she began to bathe the cuts and to let her hands move over his arms and shoulders… over his chest and his back. He growled softly._

"_Melleha…"_

"_Yes, my love," she whispered, then gasped as his arms came around her and he lifted her into his lap, and then laid her back against the couch, kissing her deeply without a pause._

"_I love you," he rumbled as he ended the kiss. His hands moved almost desperately over her body and she trembled with the passionate urgency of the touches. Already she could feel him hard against her hip._

"_And I love you," she breathed, and threw back her head as his kisses descended on her neck. The touch of his hand fell to her thigh as he started to gather her skirt. She pressed her own caresses lower on his back and chest until she could reach for and unfasten the ties that would allow her to free him from his clothes enough for them to be together as they needed._

_He barely touched a light caress against her before she pulled him to her, moaning long and low as he buried himself inside her, giving in to the need… He took her hard and fast, with long sure strokes that each brought sweet cries from her lips and she bucked beneath him matching his passions with her own._

"_Melleha… Hayati!" he cried as they reached for each other at the crest of their bright wave and then he sank against her. He rested his head against her shoulder and he wept that they could share as deep a love as they did._

_As the passion began to fade and love filled them he began to caress her softly once more, revealing more of her to his tender gaze and…_

"Sariyah… Hayati…. La!"

The shrill cry of anguish was followed by a wailing keen that caused Melleha's heated blood to chill in a heartbeat.

The first of their slain brought from the battlefield.

Without a thought to retrieving her veil from where she had thrown it she pushed back the canvass door to go to the grieving wife, but as she set eyes on the woman who knelt at the side of her husband's body, she could not move. Her legs turned to water and barely had the strength to support her. Such a display of emotion from the usually stoic Medjai paralysed her.

As she watched, the widowed Medjai woman threw back her head and let out another note of pure despair before she once more threw herself over her husband's body in an almost protective gesture and lay there sobbing for her lost love.

Several moment of a strange and terrible quiet descended over Al-Dakhla before two figures moved among the crowd, going to the stricken woman and crouching at her side. One of them leaned over to speak softly to her, running a gentle hand down her back.

The widow nodded and sat up, though reluctantly, letting go of her husband. Her two companions began to help her to her feet, keeping their arms around her shoulders. When they turned to bring her away Melleha could not help but let out a sob of her own as she saw the child carried low in the woman's belly. The child would never know its father.

She could not help but press her hand against her own, barely swelling belly.

_

* * *

My dearest Jonathan, __life here continues on in much the same way as it always has, except that I am not longer in my father's house._

Jonathan paced as he read the letter.

_The servants sent for the doctor again today, convinced that my melancholy is a symptom of something more than just the fact that I am dreadfully unhappy here. They look at me so spitefully sometimes that I am afraid to come out of my room. It is almost as if they know… no. I will not speak of it here._

The hand that held the letter trembled as he read on. What had that brute _done_ to her?

"I swear, if he has hurt you, Celia, I will kill him," he growled under his breath.

_As least my one small comfort is that through the eight and a half months of our marriage – no I miscount, how strange – through the nine months of our marriage I have only been forced to endure Francis' company three times, though admittedly they were probably the worst times of my entire life._

There had to be something he could do to give her some relief from it all. Something that she would allow him to do that would not dishonour her family or his…

_There was a letter from him today. Not addressed to me of course, for I am nothing but chattel to him, but to the butler that acts as my jailor here. He tells me that Francis intends to return from his latest project soon – within the month perhaps – and that this time he intends to stay home… attend to his home duties as I must attend to mine. I am sure that means he expects for me to give him a son._

"Bastard…" he spat. He truly hated men like that… and he'd known a few in his time. He was well aware that he did not have the best of records in the way he had thought on and treated women as little more than playthings if truth be told… but things were different now. He was older… he… he…

_It's _hateful_ Jonathan, I cannot tell you. I can't bear it here. I would rather be living on the back of a camel with those native savages you call Madjais or whatever it is than here with Francis. I honestly do not know what I will do when he returns. If only I could escape from here…_

* * *

Celia put down the embroidery hoop, folded her hands and sighed as she turned her head to stare out of the window. The rain was coming down again. She couldn't even escape into the garden today.

Slowly she stood up from the couch, but before she could take a step, one of the servants appeared in the doorway.

"Is there something you need, Ma'am?"

"What? No… nothing," she said absently. "I'm… I feel weary. I think I will retire for a brief constitutional."

The servant curtsied, "Very good, Ma'am."

Celia paused in the doorway of the drawing room. She felt utterly wretched. It happened every single time she even moved from her chair. One of the servants would come and ask her what she needed. God forbid she ever move toward the front door. She sighed. It would probably be locked in any case.

Finally she moved from the doorway to take the curving stairs at the centre of the lobby to reach the second floor where her private chambers were. She had at least _some_ control over the servants. When Francis had first gone away to excavate God only knew what, in some miserable, flee infested hole… she hoped… she had told them that she would be moving from the chamber she shared with her husband, where on their wedding night he had raped her, and all but murdered her in the process. They had given her no argument – had moved her to a small suite of rooms further down the hallway. At least it gave her a little privacy. As much as one could have in a house full of servants whom one knew were reporting every little thing to the husband she so hated.

She did not even realise that she had closed the door and leaned against the cool smooth wood until she felt it against her cheek.

"This cannot go on," she whispered to herself. "I must do something."

Instead she went to the bed and lay herself down on the thick counterpane. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her soul broken by the insults and injuries visited on her by such a cruel fate as hers.

Barely a week more of freedom before her torturous husband returned… would it really be such a crime… to free herself from that world of pain?

* * *

Meela kept her steps deliberately and provocatively slow, and her bodyguard close. In spite of how blasé she had sounded, she had indeed heeded Whisper's warning about Farhas… but with the almost year long war between the Medjai and the Farhaseed beginning to cool in intensity, she had to do something to ensure that the Medjai kept off her back and away from the temples where she and her people made their final investigations before heading to Hamunaptra itself.

"As-salaamu alaikhum, Sayiidi," she said smoothly, taking a seat before invited to do so in spite of her apparent respectfulness.

"Alaikhum as-salaamu," he answered automatically. "It is a rare woman that walks like a lamb into the den of a lion."

"Remember you have said that, Farhas" she smiled and crossed her legs, letting the fabric fall away, "for I _am_ indeed rarer than you could possibly imagine."

Farhas laughed.

"And with more balls than most of my men put together," he said and poured two small glasses of coffee. "Come, drink with me oh rare and precious jewel of the desert."

"You flatter me," she smiled and sipped at the coffee.

"What is it that you want?" he demanded. The smile and laughter faded from him like a cloud in the Saharan sun.

"I like a man that comes quickly to the point," she said, still sipping her coffee and making no sign that she intended to tell him anything. After a moment or two she started talking. "I represent a small group of people with a great deal of interest in some of the more… esoteric among the sacred sites of this country. We have been researching the resting place of a certain priest from the time of the Pharaoh Seti the First. At first our researches were going exceedingly well, and then we had a problem with interference from a band of self styled protectors for these places in which we are working."

"And what has this got to do with me?" Farhas asked roughly.

* * *

Ilham pressed herself closer against the pillar in the hallway between Farhas apartments and the harem. She should be getting back. Her breasts ached and she had no doubt that Fadwa would need her milk as much as she needed her to drink the milk, but the arrival of the woman, and the topic of her conversation with Farhas had captured her attention. She longed for news of the war between her people and the Farhaseed, news that was not tainted with Farhas particular slant… independent news.

Perhaps this woman could bring her the news she longed to hear, that the Medjai were winning the war.

"Well naturally when we started having such trouble we went to great lengths to discover what these warriors, these… Magi..." the woman hesitated.

"Medjai," Farhas said, correcting her.

"Ah, so you _do_ know of them."

"Of course I know of them," Farhas snapped, "We have been at war these past three seasons. But I do not see how _your_ problem with the Medjai is anything to do with me."

"Absolutely nothing," the woman purred.

"Then why do you come to me?"

"Because I have information that I felt… obligated to bring to you."

Ilham frowned. This was not the way she had expected the conversation to proceed at all and though she knew she should return to the harem, instead she pressed herself still closer to the pillar, twining herself in with the silks that draped the walls.

* * *

"Obligated?" Farhas frowned. Until that moment he had been sure that this woman was somehow trying to manipulate him, but if she were obligated to him…

She nodded. "Indeed. Though I extend sympathy and regret to you for all the men you must have lost in this war it has in fact been so helpful to our researches, because it has tied up these Medjai and they have been unable to bother us. So of course when I learned by chance that these Medjai seem to have something that belongs to you…"

"Save your breath, woman," Farhas all but roared, disappointed to understand that he had been right all along about her intensions. "I know full well that the Medjai have stolen my bride from me and have her holed up somewhere within one of their tribal homes."

"My dear Farhas," she purred at him and it took all of his self control – and the knowledge that the bodyguard would take him before he was half way through with what he wanted from the provocative bitch that sat preening in his very chambers – not to launch himself at her there and then. "I had no doubt that you _would_ know that, but _I_ know which settlement – and indeed which Medjai it is that has taken her for… himself."

* * *

Meela watched as the storm clouds gathered in Farhas' face and waited for the explosion of the word that she could tell was coming. She smiled and let out a small chuckle as Loch-Nah moved a little closer to her.

"What!" Farhas finally demanded.

"I stumbled on the information quite by accident from someone that claimed himself to be an associate of yours. I couldn't help but wonder if this man were in league with the Medjai, but he assured me that he wasn't. Anyway, he said that a Medjai warrior by the name of…" she deliberately faltered as she spoke his name, "Ardeth Bay…?"

"Ardeth Bay…!" Farhas leaped to his feet at this clearly outraged, "Faithless…! False…!"

"Did I say something wrong?" Meela asked with feigned confused innocence.

"Taken her for himself…!" he raged, ignoring her question.

"I'm quite sure of it," she said, adding more fuel to the fire in Farhas blood, "Adham – the man I spoke to – said that he heard a message that the Medjai were being called to the wedding of this man whose name so upsets you, some time ago now… almost eleven months I think. Oh… as long as your war…"

She stopped a moment and played with her fingers as though letting the realisation fall over her.

"You do not mean to tell me that you went to war with the Medjai because of this woman?" she said. "She must be something very special indeed."

"What she is to me is none of your business," Farhas turned on her again, and this time she had no objection to Loch-Nah stepping forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Why do you tell me this?" Farhas demanded, looking from her to Loch-Nah and back again, "What is it that you want from me, temptress."

Meela laughed.

"I want nothing," she said when she calmed at last, "I told you I thought it was news that you would like to hear. I wish to repay the help that you have given to me by giving you help in return."

"How does this news help me?" he asked, "I cannot assault the First Tribe of the Medjai and their leader at Al-Dakhla itself."

"And if I could arrange for their warrior's strength to be away from their settlement…?" Meela stood and walked over to where Farhas was still blustering. She walked a circle around him, trailing her finger over the fine silks of his shirt. "…what would it be worth to you to have this woman back in your harem where she truly belongs?"

"How would you do this?" Farhas asked, and Meela could tell that the dual temptations she presented to him now crushed his suspicions enough for her to slip her hook into him as she had done to Whisper and his family.

"It is a simple enough matter for me, now that the fighting between the two of you has subsided enough for the Medjai to begin to take up their… other duties again," she said, "All I need to do is to make it look as though I mean to dig close by to Al-Dakhla and the warriors will come to warn me away. If I make it close enough for them to come, and far enough to give you time you could…"

"…slip into the settlement and reclaim my bride," Farhas breathed. He seemed suitably impressed with the simplicity of her plan. Then he turned dark again and asked, "But what do you want in return."

"Little enough," Meela confessed. "I wish only to know which of the Medjai Tribes most often guards the City of the Dead."

She shrugged as though it were of no real consequence to her.

"What do you mean to do to them?" he asked, a frown of puzzlement on his face, "And how am I supposed to know this information?"

"What I mean to do to the Medjai that stand in my way is no business of yours," she snapped, echoing his words, then softened to add, "and you are a resourceful man, Farhas. I have every faith that you could find this out for me."

She stood facing him then, one eyebrow raised, waiting for his answer.

* * *

"Thank you, Merrik, that will be all," Francis said softly, then added, "Only see to it that my wife attends me at once."

"Of course, Sir," the butler answered.

Francis sat back on his couch, sipping at the glass of brandy in his hand and smiling to himself. It would be a glorious vacation here at the house. He would spend his days hunting and fishing and his nights… ah his nights… what passions he would spend on his wife.

"My dear," he said into the air, "I mean to use you until you cannot walk…"

He chuckled to himself… he pictured his fingers running over her pliant flesh, taking the curve of her breast into his hand and squeezing until she moaned for him. He would have that sound – that plea – from her yet and if not… he shrugged.

"Or at least until you breed." It was a wife's duty after all. He rubbed a hand over where he was hard and already aching and only stopped when the soft knock sounded at the door.

"Come," he instructed.

* * *

Celia tried not to tremble as she came in to Francis and closed the door behind her.

"Ah, Celia, my dear," he said, getting to his feet and walking to her. When he reached her he leaned down to kiss her. At the last moment she turned her face aside so that the kiss landed on her cheek. With a hint of annoyance he asked, "I trust you're well?"

"As well as can be expected," she answered and moved away from him. She almost sobbed when she heard the click of the lock engaging.

"Don't want to be disturbed over trifles now, do we?" he asked with a grim smile on his face. As he advanced towards her the smile fell from his face.

"Francis please," she started.

"Let's not have to have a repeat performance, Celia dearest," he said coldly. "A man has needs… and I _will_ have you as is my right… one way or another."

* * *

If only she could get a message to him… to warn him…

Ilham, still reeling from shock at the things she had heard, before – at the mention of Ardeth's name – she had fled her hiding place to return to her youngest and take comfort in the feel of the infant feeding from her bosom.

She rocked the now sleeping girl in her arms, but still trembled when she thought of what Farhas could be plotting, even now, against her childhood home. She almost screamed when the harem door burst open and two of Farhas men came in.

"You!" one of them snapped, "You're wanted."

"But I—" she began, meaning to tell them it was too soon after the birth of her child and that even Farhas must wait. The slap cut off her words.

"Now," said the second guard. "You can give the brat to one of the others."

She started at Shamaria's light touch on her arm and the young woman held out her hands to receive the child.

"I will keep her safe," she said.

Ilham shivered and pressed a hand against her sore cheek as she got to her feet. She did not need to be reminded that Farhas had threatened her child already simply because she had not been a male.

"Insha'allah," she whispered softly, and blinked back tears as she followed the guards.

* * *

Celia leaned her head against the cold glass of the window, tears running down her cheeks matching the raindrops that made trails down along the glass.

She had lain as one dead as he had heaved and sweated above her until he'd emptied himself and had sank onto her bosom as though love existed between them. It had not been long until he slept and as soon as he did she had slipped from his bed to take up her vigil of pain and tears against the windows.

Quietly so as not to waken him and begin it all again, she pulled the blanket that was always left in the window seat over herself and curled into a ball. She would no more share his bed to sleep as she would that of a viper and if he woke and found her there come morning, so be it. He could not punish her more than he already did.

Would it never stop raining?

* * *

"No?" Farhas roared and slapped her again, "What do you mean no?"

"I'll tell you nothing of the Medjai," she said, terrified, but defiant none the less, "You took me from my people when I was little more than a babe and have used me against my people more than enough."

"You—!"

"So even if you kill me for it," she swallowed and started again, "Even if it means my death, I'll tell you nothing more about the Medjai."

"We'll see about that," Farhas all but screamed into her face and pulled back her hair, holding a dagger at her throat. She flinched, but did not – would not start to speak. "Bring the brat she bore me."

"Farhas, n—" She felt sick. Surely he wouldn't harm their child. Surely even as a daughter the child would mean more to him than only a hostage against not getting his will.

"Then _tell_ me," he demanded, and whether deliberate or accidental, he nicked her with the point of his knife.

"No," she moaned, and bit her lip at the sharp prick of the knife. "Farhas please…"

Ilham tried to clutch at his robes as he let go of her.

"Hold her," he instructed another of his men as he moved to meet the guardsman that had returned from the harem with the screaming baby in his arms, and Shamaria all but wrapped around his leg.

"Please not the child, take me, but not the child," Shamaria begged the guard with each step he took.

Farhas slapped her hard aside the face with the back of his hand and she let go of the guardsman and tried to crawl away and curl into a ball in the same moment as he kicked at her then snatched the infant from the guardsman's hand.

He held up the baby in one hand, his dagger pressed to the soft underside of the tiny girl's neck.

"Which tribe, Ilham?" he asked, raising his voice so that it could be heard over the screaming of child and mother alike.

Ilham could barely see for the tears in her eyes. She could not breathe and the beat of her heart hurt so much she thought she was going to die. Her belly contracted in fear and emptiness both at each cry from her daughter.

"No, Farhas, my husband, please—"

Her daughter's cry changed from one of discomfort and fear to one of pain as Farhas' muscles moved and the knife began to slide into the underside of the girl's throat.

"Ninth!" Ilham screamed, "Ninth Tribe! At this time of year Ninth… Farhas please, it's Ninth!"

The guard let go of her and she fell sobbing to the marble floor as she heard the knife before she saw it clatter to the stone in front of her. She kicked at the blade to get it away from her and snatched her screaming child from his arms when Farhas brought the baby to her, curling herself around the girl and sobbing so hard she lost all awareness of everything else around her.

* * *

Celia tried very hard to ignore Francis as he looked at her over the top of the newspaper that he insisted on reading at table each breakfast time no matter how rude it was. She pushed her food around on her plate, feeling nauseous. She stared at it as though it was poisonous, though after a week in his company she was more than ready to let herself starve to death.

"What is it, Merrik?" she heard him ask.

"A telegram, Sir," Merrik came into the room as she raised her head to look, with a single piece of folded paper on a silver platter. Had she any humour left in her she would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Francis definitely had ideas above his station.

"My word," he said excitedly, "It's from Hafez. He wants me on a dig the British Museum is funding."

"How wonderful for you," she said flatly.

"Not for _me,_ Celia," he told her, standing up as though he meant to leave that very moment. "For _us. _I've decided to bring you with me."

"Francis… I… I can't go now, I—" she tried not to sound as panicked as she was. If he had to go away again, all the better for it would give her time to work out how she might escape from the torture her loveless marriage afforded her.

"Of course you will," he told her, his face darkening. "You'll come with me to Egypt and that's an end to it."

Far from crumpling at the news, Celia felt a thrill of hope. Egypt… Jonathan… perhaps she could find a way to escape from Francis after all. Still, she could not let him see that she was anything other than defeated by him if she were to have even the slightest hope of that.

"Yes… sir," she said sullenly.

* * *

Melleha looked up as the canvass was pushed aside and Ardeth walked in. He looked tired and drawn and as she looked at him it was clear to her that she had seen battle today. She started to struggle to get up.

"No," he held out his hand to stop her, "Please, my wife, rest easy. I am well. They are but scratches. I can see to them myself."

"Ardeth sit, please," She finally gained her feet and went to get a bowl into which she could pour water from where it was warmed on the fire. "Allow me this. Allah knows it is little enough I do for you."

He sighed and then nodded. He shrugged off his robe and pulled of his shirt as he came to sit.

"As you wish," he said.

"I thought these battles were over," she said as she knelt in front of him and began to clean the cuts and grazes he'd acquired in the latest skirmish.

"They are now few and far between," he confirmed. "This was nothing."

"It does not look like nothing," she answered, spreading an antiseptic paste onto one of the deeper cuts.

He only shook his head. "And you, wife? Are you well today?"

"We are," she gave him a smile but what reached her eyes was sadness. "We are both of us well."

"This gladdens me," he returned the smile and for a moment her heart beat a little faster. The thrill of it soon faded. It was not the smile she always saw in her mind.

"Are you hungry?"

"I am," he said, "but allow me to bring it to table, hmm? You should not be doing too much."

"Ardeth, I'm not an invalid, neither am I sick. The child will be fine if I serve you your meal," she pushed at his shoulder, now that she was done with tending to his wounds, "Now go and find clean clothes to wear and I will finish serving dinner."

"Melleha," he said softly and she stopped moving, closing her eyes as he reached out to briefly caress her cheek. She leaned her face into his palm as he cupped it gently in his hand. Whatever he had been going to say he abandoned however, telling her simply, "Thank you."

* * *

He reached into the chest and easily found a clean shirt together with the rest of his clothes. It was folded in the way his cousin always folded clothes and he was relieved at this. He hated to think that Melleha was still trying to do everything for him when she needed to be resting. There were scant few weeks, eight at most before the child would come and he wanted everything to be well. He needed everything to be right.

Sighing he dressed and called through to Melleha. "I leave for Cairo tomorrow. Is there anything you need from the Souk?"

He followed his voice back into the main room of the house to find her lifting the pot from the fire to the cork mat in the centre of the table. He hurried across to take it from her, but bit his lip against saying anything.

"If there is more of the cloth that you like so much, you could bring some back and I will make you new shirts to replace the ones that have been ruined of late," she said.

"I will," he said, taking his place at the table and allowing her to serve him food from the pot into his plate. He waited while she took her place beside him and then said the blessing for the food before they began to eat. "Anything else? Something for yourself, perhaps?"

"I can think of nothing I need, Ardeth," she told him.

"For the baby then," he said, breaking off a piece of bread and trying to be gentle about it. He was trying to be… supportive; to ask the kinds of things he supposed a husband was meant to ask when he loved his wife. Mentally he shook his head. This kind of thing might come easier to him if he could more than care for her.

"A warm blanket, perhaps," she answered, and the smile she gave him, another one of those sad smiles worried him. Had he been too cold to her? He returned the smile and reached for her hand.

"I will bring two," he said and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. After a moment he said, "The food is good."

"Thank you," she answered, "I was worried it would be too salty for you."

"No," he gave her fingers another squeeze and then turned his attention to the food about which he was speaking. "It is just right."

"Do you wish to read again tonight, husband?" she asked.

He shook his head. The least he could do for her was to make her feel loved. She was so melancholy most of the time and he hated to think that he was the cause of it. When his mouth was free of food he said, "I want to take you to bed."

"The healers have said we should be careful," she said, and the sad tone was unmistakeable.

"I know it," he said. "I will be gentle."

She smiled then… fully… the shy sweet smile that warmed the edges of the frost away from his heart. He only wished he could feel more for her than he did. Other couples love grew with time… why not theirs?

* * *

The warmth of his kisses sent a thrill from her shoulders where they landed, all the way to her core as he reached around to the front of her and to unwind the bindings from her breasts. When his fingers brushed against her skin she gasped softly, and could not help but lean back against him.

He brushed her hair aside and began a tender assault of kisses against her neck.

"Ardeth," she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

"Habibti," he murmured between kisses.

She sighed softly, but reached up a hand to run it into the silk of his hair. The tenderness was enough and her need for him greater than the petulance that always threatened when he used that word instead of the one she longed to hear fall from his lips.

He moaned against her ear, and she turned her face so that she could plant a line of kisses on his cheek; half turned her body so that their lips could meet and she could lose herself in the kiss they shared.

As they kissed his hand moved gently over her belly, caressing her, caressing the child that calmed at his touch.

"He knows his father's touch," she murmured as their lips parted.

"Does the child trouble you?" he asked softly, kissing her shoulder again as he drew her to lie with him. He wrapped his arms around her again and caressed their child a second time.

"He is active," she shrugged, and caught his hand to bring it to where the child still kicked.

He chuckled a little, caressing there as he turned her so that he could plant gentle kisses over her belly moving to meet with his hand.

"Sleep, little one," he whispered softly, "Let Ume rest."

Melleha fought the tears that rose to fill her eyes at the tenderness and love she heard in his voice as he spoke to their child… their son. She was convinced it was a boy from the way he kicked and squirmed around in her womb.

When Ardeth's kisses travelled deliberately lower on her body… as he touched her softly, as he had promised he would, the needful gasp she gave came out almost as a sob.

* * *

He sighed softly and turned to lie on his back, staring into the canopied darkness above him. Sleep evaded him as so much weighed on his mind. He should be grateful. He knew that he should, but he could not help think on what was missing… and on the sorrow he had caused.

Here he lay next to an undeniably beautiful wife who carried his child in her womb; a woman for whom he cared and who tried to do the best she could for one born outside of the Tribes and yet here also he lay wishing to love, and to be loved in return… in the same fashion. Melleha only stifled him in the attempt.

Perhaps even that was his fault. Perhaps if he did not make her try so hard to win his affections – not that he consciously _did_ – then her love for him would not be so cloying, overwhelmingly and sickeningly heavy like thick incense.

Had this all been too hasty or had he simply not had time to get used to what it meant to be married and building a family?

No, he decided with another sigh, perhaps it was true that he was not used to being a husband and almost a father – the war with the Farhaseed which, praise be to Allah, had devolved into a series of skirmish and counter skirmish – had kept him absent from home so often. Yet he knew himself well enough to know that this was not the source of the problem and to use it so would only be an excuse. To give excuses would be as unfair to Melleha as it had been to make her his wife in the first place. There could have been other ways to keep her safe from al-Mahdi and Farhas.

Moving carefully and quietly so as not to wake her he rose and threw a light robe over his body and then went into the main room of their home. Pouring water into a bowl he carefully prepared himself for private contemplative prayer and almost tearfully petitioned Allah to help him find the answers to his questions.

* * *

She had forgotten how hellishly hot it could be in the day and how terribly cold at night, and once more the two extremes were taking their toll on Celia on their journey between Cairo and the small dig site they had been sent to by the British museum. It wasn't that the journey was a particularly long one just that it was taken in each of the opposite extremes.

Fanning herself with a woven reed fan as she sat atop the camel, whose weaving back and forth was making her feel more than a little seasick, she glanced over toward a cloud of dust several dunes away.

"I say," she leaned over to tap Francis on the arm. "Is that—?"

"Only a bunch of the local natives… no doubt fighting over something trivial… a little pond in the middle of nowhere I shouldn't wonder," he said. "Anyway it's nothing we need concern ourselves with… long way off from where we'll be."

* * *

"Marzuq, quickly… he needs a healer!" Sameh tried to keep his friend and leader still as he rode his horse as hard as he dared into the settlement of the Ninth Tribe.

He did not know all of the injuries Ardeth had suffered in the attack that had come against them as they left Cairo to go and investigate the dig that the curator of the Museum of Antiquities told them the British Museum had ordered out in the western desert not so far from there.

"This way," Marzuq took hold of the bridle of Sameh's horse and together with his sons helped the Medjai's Honoured Second to get the chief down from atop the animal. "What happened?"

"Farhaseed," Sameh spat the name like some kind of curse. "It was almost as though they were waiting for us, and almost as though they were not interested in anyone other than Ardeth."

"Troubling indeed," Marzuq nodded and led the grim party toward his own dwelling. "Ra'uf, run to the healers."

Marzuq's son ran to do his father's bidding while Sameh and Marzuq removed much of Ardeth's clothing and covered him with a light blanket.

* * *

The sound of running footsteps woke her from her light sleep, and she got up quietly, automatically pulling on her shrouding robes, white beneath deep blue – the colours of an apprentice healer – before taking a step outside the dormitory.

"Honoured Mother…"

She gasped as she heard her brother's voice, and her stomach knotted with fear. Had something happened to her father?

"We need a healer at once."

The old woman turned to where she stood in the doorway as she asked the young Medjai warrior, "Is your father sick? Your brother?"

"Honoured Mother, please… we do not know how badly the First Medjai is hurt. His Second rode in with him just a moment ago…"

"Lamis… child…" she almost took a step back when the old healer called her forward, "You are needed. Go with Abdul-Ra'uf."

"I cannot, Honoured Mother, I—"

"You will go where I send you, girl, or you are no good to us here as healer." The old woman met her startled gaze and her heart beat so fast in her chest that she feared it would jump right out. "Gather your things and go with your brother to your father's house. A guest there is in need of our medicine."

"Could not one of the others go?" she asked and tried desperately to think of a reason as to why it should not be she that went, "If it is indeed serious then surely one of the older, more experienced healers would be more effective than I."

"You have nursed him before," she said, "and from the telling of it, from a grave hurt. Do not waste more time in arguing with me, girl. Gather you things and go."

"Yes, Honoured Mother," Lamis answered obediently, and with a heavy heart, went to gather the things she would likely need.

* * *

His head ached. Parts of him felt numb, others bruised and painful and he tried very hard to remember what had happened to him in the last few hours… maybe days. He could not recall…

Slowly he opened his eyes and winced as the light made his head ache worse. He took in the familiar surroundings at once. The rugs and hanging here were almost as familiar as the adornments in his own house. He had been here so often.

He moved carefully so as not to jar anything that might be more than bruised and leaned up on his elbows to look around more carefully. They had brought him to Marzuq's house for aid, so… where was Lamis?

"You are awake."

Her voice came from behind his shoulder where he could not see until he turned. His heart and stomach changed places in his body and he felt as though everything drained out of him as he did.

She knelt at the head of the cot with her hand folded serenely in her lap, the deep blue robes pooled around her like water. She did not move as he raised his eyes upward, to look on her face, which was framed in deep blue and white – the gauzy veil the healers wore was pushed back over her head – her skin looked almost porcelain pale and made the serpentine mark at her right temple stand out all the more. And her eyes… holding all the sorrows and suffering in the world…

"I…" he started, but he had known that she desired to be sworn a healer. Why then was he so shocked to see her thus? Instead he asked, "How long have I been here?"

* * *

"Two days, First Medjai."

She lowered her eyes… could not bear to see the way he looked at her… the pain she saw in his eyes as he did was more than anything she had ever seen in him before. It was a haunted look more unfathomable than any desert oasis could ever be. She did not want to remember him that way. She wanted to recall the bright, teasing smile that had so often lit his face… the compassion in the deep vanilla pools of his eyes…

She heard him move again, and was unsurprised to see his hands reaching for hers. She did not move, and felt herself enfolded in the warmth of the touch as he took them into his own hands.

"Lamis, I…" he said softly.

"It is a strange thing," she said when his voice faltered and fell away to nothing. "When they sent for a healer I did not want to come because I did not think I would be able to stand to see you again."

"You," he reached for her chin to gently – he was always so gentle – lift her face so that their eyes could meet again. "You do… understand why I did… what I have done?"

"The Medjai must ensure that our blood does not become static… weakened by inbreeding. We must endure." She nodded. "Yes. I understand."

"Lamis if… if I could—"

"It's too _late_, Ardeth," she interrupted, blinking away the tears that came to pool in her eyes, and freeing one of her hands from his she lay it tenderly against his cheek as she repeated softly, "too late."

* * *

"But you are not yet sworn," he could not help but lean into her sweet touch against his cheek. It was so delicate and gave him such peace. "Lamis, this was not what I wanted for you. I don't believe it is what you wanted either. Not really…"

She gave him a sad but tender little smile, "Perhaps it wasn't… at first. Perhaps I saw it as a way to run away from the pain of losing you. Perhaps that's what I did."

"Lamis, habibti, you have to believe that I never wanted to hurt you," he said, the words slipping from his lips before he even realised what it was he had said. His voice trembled on the edge of tears. "I would cut out my own heart before ever I deliberately hurt you."

"I know, Adya, I know."

She moved her thumb against his cheek and closed her eyes when he turned his head to place a lingering kiss against her palm. He cupped her soft hand against his cheek beneath his own to do so… closing his eyes… feeling the way his heart twisted around itself.

"But the truth is… that I need peace. My heart must be at rest or else I shall be destroyed and this," she gently freed herself from his touch and he felt as though he were a reed boat cut adrift on the Nile. He saw her indicate herself – her healer's garb – and then continued, "it gives me the peace I need."

"But it is not the only way," he whispered.

* * *

"Yes," she said sad but calm, "It is. It is too late for _us_, and it would not be fair to any other man. The peace I need is here, as a healer… serving Allah… serving the Medjai in my own way."

Calm drained away to be filled with the rising emotions… sorrow, loss… love… a love so deep, so strong and fierce it was all consuming. She reached out again and took both of his hands into hers. She held them so tightly for a moment that her fingers ached, and then she kissed both of his hands, nuzzled at the skin that was both soft and roughened at the same time, just as she remembered. She could barely breathe as she released his hands and returned her own to her lap.

"I have let you go, Ardeth." A single tear rolled down each cheek as she spoke. "And now you have to do the same. Let me go."

* * *

"Lamis…" he breathed, and reached out a trembling hand to catch the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Everything she had said echoed in his mind and all of the times they had shared together played in his memory in those few short moments. She had once asked for his love and he had denied her. Now she was asking for it again in the only way she could. How could he deny her again? "Will you help me to dress?"

"Yes," she said softly and together they rose to their feet.

She steadied him as he stepped into his pants and pulled on his boots; helped him to thread his injured arm through the sleeve of his shirt and held his outer robe for him as his turned for her to help him on with it.

An empty, cold ache embraced him as he crossed the fabric over itself to close the robe and held it there while she wound the sash around him to hold it together. She followed tradition as she did, pressing the sash to her belly, kissing it softly and then leaned down to press her forehead to the fabric before she passed it around him and fastened it tightly.

"Know that you are protected by the life in my body, the love in my heart and the strength of my will," she murmured.

"Know that I give you that protection," he answered and reached to cup her cheeks in his hands. Before he could think to stop himself, he leaned down to softly but deeply share with her a first and final kiss.

* * *

Her fingers burned as she slid them up along the soft fabric of his robe to hold tightly to his shoulders as their lips pressed together. Dizzied she opened herself to him, drowning in the softness of the touch of his lips, the caress of his tongue against hers, and suffocating in the strength of the love… and the regret… expressed in the embrace. The kiss lingered, and she was slow to let go of the fullness of his lower lip as they began to move apart.

"Sirma ma'assalam, al nur ya galbi," she breathed against his lips.

* * *

He breathed in her words, and then let out the breath as a sigh over his lips, still moist from their kiss… all he had left of her. Slowly he reached for the veil and lowered it to cover her beautiful face.

"Allaysallimik, Hayati," he whispered, making himself look at her as she was… burning the image into his heart. Then he gave her as low a bow as he could, and turned to leave.

It took everything that he was not to look back.


	13. Loss

**Forbidden**

Chapter 13 – Loss

Against everything he had truly believe could happen – and in no small part aided by his slight addition to the plan that the woman, Meela, had suggested – the strategy had worked. He sheltered with his soldiers in the lee of the overhanging rocks watching as warrior after warrior rode out of First Tribe in defence of the sacred sites the woman was plundering and no doubt in defence of their warrior brothers that were under attack by the guerrilla band he'd sent toward the lands belonging to the Ninth Tribe. Farhas grinned openly, for the first time truly feeling he would achieve his goal.

One final warrior thundered out into the cool of the morning air and an expectant hush fell over the Farhaseed. Each of those fanatical warriors looked expectantly in his direction, but he waited. What good would it do him if he sent in his men too soon and the departing warriors merely turned around in defence of their home? No, he had to give them time to be far enough away. He had to leave time for the settlement to relax into its vulnerability.

As he waited he dreamed of Melleha… of the things he would do, the surrender she would give to him when he finally took her home. He deserved a rest after all his recent activity, and he meant to spend it in lavishing attentions on his beautiful promised wife – at the very least taking from her those attentions.

**

The thrill trickled through her blood, almost tickling every nerve as she finally stepped foot, unmolested, on the threshold of the City of the Dead – the great and sacred Hamunaptra.

"Why do you stop?" Loch Nah asked her, keeping his voice quiet to match the reverence of the many souls that accompanied them on their journey.

"Atmosphere, Loch Nah," she said, turning her head to him with a wry smile, "Do you not feel it?"

"I feel the fear they suffer," he nodded toward the red clad soldiers she had brought with them. "I smell it – it makes the air rank."

"They have good reason to be afraid," she said.

"But not you?" he asked and she could see amusement in his eyes, not quite mocking her, for there was a hint of curiosity mingled with it, but not quite as reverent as she would like either.

"No."

"Is there nothing that you fear?" he questioned, once more turning to look into the city itself.

"Very little," she said, and laughing started to walk into the crumbling ruins of the once great city. The latest destruction, she knew, had been caused by the efforts of the Medjai and his American and English friends to contain her former beloved; to prevent his success in bringing them together once more, and achieving power – giving her the immortality she craved… the rest was down to time… and time had been long indeed.

"What are you thinking?" Loch Nah asked her quietly.

"Many things," she answered. "Once… I knew this place when I was living."

She saw him frown in confusion. "You live now," he said.

"Ah, but not as I once did," she said, "for I am not only the woman you now see… but the reincarnation of the Great Princess Anck-Su-Namun."

The sands themselves reacted to the mention of her name as a hissing wind stirred them in small, ineffectual eddies around the legs and ankles of the men that were picking their way through the rubble. Some cried out and made warding signs against evil, others backed away, putting as much distance between the sands and themselves as they could. Meela crouched and passed her hand through one small eddy as though in caress of a lover as the shifting grains responded in kind.

_Soon… my princess, soon…_

"And that is why you would do this?" She looked up at Loch Nah as he spoke and watched as he shivered, but stood his ground.

Straightening once more she turned to face him, pressing the hand that had been one with the sands of Hamunaptra against his strongly beating heart.

"I must resurrect the one they call 'the creature'" she told him. "I must find him, and bring him back to me."

"Then you seek the Priest Imhotep," he said with another shudder as the whispering sands took up a sibilant chanting of his name.

"Yes I seek Imhotep," she turned her back to him, leaning against him and, moving herself almost catlike against his taught body, watched the shifting sands almost scurry toward her as the one that dared the name of its master. "He, and the means to bring him back… the books of the living, and the dead."

She felt Loch Nah's hand close on her arms as he responded to her feline grace against him and smiled suggestively over her shoulder.

"It is a dangerous game you play," he said.

"My brave warrior," she said and moved away, to stand facing him in the middle of one of the larger whorls of sand. "It is neither a game, nor do I _play_ anything."

**

The sun was almost reaching its peak when Sameh noticed the winking of the reflected rays coming from out of the sands. It was so subtle that he almost missed it, and but for one of the slight warm currents that crawled, lizard like across the sands moving the cover from the tan coloured robes, he might well have done so.

Frowning, and as silent as he could be, he pointed out the disturbance to the warriors guarding the ridge at his side, and then turned and headed further into the settlement to gather what strength still remained in defence of the Medjai families left in his charge.

"Husband?" Firyal appeared at his side as he arrived.

"Gather the women and children," he told her, "take them to the council halls – as quietly as you can."

"What _is_ it?" she wrapped her arms around herself as though she was cold. Sameh took a moment to hold her gently and press a soft kiss against her forehead.

"Someone comes," he said, "now go. Do as I command."

At once she left his arms and began to go among the dwellings, compelling the women to bring their daughters and young sons. He smiled. He could not have hoped for a better wife. Then he turned away himself, to go and prepare the defences.

Whoever it was believed they had surprise on their side. They could not now have been more wrong. Sameh arranged the warriors that remained in the best defensive positions among the dwellings and other buildings that made the outer ring of Al-Dakhla and there, they waited.

**

A surge of triumph enflamed his blood as the shadow of the outlying date palms fell across his position. Quickly he leaped to his feet, showering sand all around and let out a whooping battle cry. His men responded in unison, throwing off their sand covered cloaks and running into the settlement at his side, firing their weapons as they went. It was a risk… for him to lead his men as he did, but he could allow nothing else. He was determined to retrieve his woman.

Little more than half way between the open ground and the first of the dwellings, Medjai warriors came surging out to meet them. He was not surprised that some remained, would have thought less of his enemy if they had not, but he was not prepared for the ferocity with which they fought.

Sensing movement to his right he swung the butt of his rifle up in time to catch the descending scimitar, defending himself.

"No mercy!" he screamed the battle cry into the morning as his men fought their way further in.

**

As frightened as she was, huddled with the women in the council hall, Melleha refused to be cowed. She struggled to her feet and began trying to move among those gathered there, ruffling the heads of children and trying to give encouraging words.

"Melleha," Cala's quiet voice sounded behind her and a light touch came at her elbow. "Please rest… sit. The stress of this is not good for you, or for your child."

"Cala, I'm fine, the baby is fine, please stop fussing. These women need reassurance."

"And they will find it better if they know that the wife of the First Medjai does not overtax herself when she is as close as you are to delivering this child." Cala would not be silenced.

Melleha sighed, it was always the same. Always it was 'the wife of the First Medjai' never by her name, or a position she held in her own right – and worse still since she had gotten with child. She had been coddled and closeted away, restricted to what she could do, or where she could be… even what she could eat. She understood – of course she did – the need for Ardeth to have a son and heir, but if any stress taxed her more than another it was their insistence at treating her like a china doll, incapable of doing anything other than rest.

She'd had more freedom living with Adham.

The shock of the sudden, unwelcome thought left her reeling and she actually staggered a little. She growled and pushed Cala away when the other woman came closer to her side to help steady her. This was her _dream_. This man she had married was kind and gentle and everything she could have wished for in a husband… how _dare_ she doubt now? How dare such a thought so disrupt the harmony and the happiness she had found in her life?

No… all was well… they were only concerned for her. After all it was a dangerous time, but she had every confidence that the Medjai under Sameh's command would easily repel the attack. She would go back to her home and in a few weeks time she would give birth to the wonderful son she carried… then everything would be right.

She smiled at Cala this time when the young healer took her arm again to lead her to a cushioned space where she could sit, and drink the water they offered to her. It was almost a serene smile as she daydreamed on those wonderful times to come…

_She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the main room, her fingers gripping tightly to the wood. Its solidity gave her strength in legs that seems somehow to have turned to water. Quietly she called her husband's name, and he jumped to his feet, coming to her at once._

"_I think it is time to send for Cala," she told him, feeling his arms go around her and lead her toward the bedroom, pausing with her as she gripped his shoulders when a contraction pulled at her belly._

_While they waited for Cala, he gently held her hand, stroking his fingers over the backs of her own, soothing and supportive in his attention._

"_Soon we will see our son," he told her softly, and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow._

_More contractions pulled at her belly, with less time between their coming and she knew he was right, it would be soon, and when Cala came to them, he insisted to stay, to sit behind her so that she might lean against him, take strength from _his_ strength._

_The healer bid her to push and she obeyed, breathing deeply and calmly to give herself the strength to bring their child into the world, thinking of nothing other than finally holding him in her arms; feeling him at her breast…_

**

Sameh struck hard at the trio of men whose attacks came fast and ferocious against his defence of the path to the heart of the settlement. From the corners of his eyes he could see that several of his warrior brothers fought in the same struggles. The Farhaseed were trying to get in and that could only mean one thing – they wanted the women... or as Sameh suspected was closer to the truth, one woman in particular.

"Drive them back," he ordered, and as though his words gave them greater strength the Medjai fought harder, regaining ground they had lost.

Both sides were beginning to tire and there had been losses and casualties on both sides. On the battlefield, blue clad healers moved among the fallen of Medjai and Farhaseed alike, giving what aid they could as was their sacred duty.

Sameh felt a surge of pride for his people, and disgust at the man that drove these men, who could have been fine and honourable warriors if given another way, to do such things as they now did.

A blade sliced the fabric of his robes and scored the skin beneath. Sameh hissed at the sting and came on against the man who'd marked him. His own blade moved as a blur in front of him, coming first from one side and then from the other as he sought to keep the other warrior off balance; looked for an opening that would afford him an advantage and give him the chance to strike.

"Medjai, Xatar!"

The cry of alarm came from behind him and turning his head slightly he saw that the Farhaseed had concentrated their attack and had broken through the Medjai line. Several of them now sprinted for the large council hall at the centre of the settlement.

"They must not reach the centre," he called his order in response as he turned back to face his opponent that he was fighting blind, "Finish them!"

He was confident that the warriors would obey his commands and that confidence lent him resolve to be there at their side when they acted in defence of those precious to them. With great ferocity he swung his blade to break the man's defences and score a hit on the Farhaseed warrior. The man countered, but his blade bit only air as Sameh, on light feet twisted aside, and in the same moment stabbed home with his attack.

Years of experience told him that his sword-strike was one from which a warrior would not recover – no matter how good the Medjai healer that would tend him, for he knew with certainty that Farhas would not recover his injured after the battle – and so refusing cruelty, as he thrust his blade home, he caught the man in his other hand, pulling him closer as he turned the sword upward to find the man's heart.

"Go in peace, to Allah, my brother," he said into the warrior's ear. He felt the cessation of the other man's struggles, and the sigh that left him before he went slack in his arms. It was always a bittersweet moment to Sameh, as one triumphed in a fight like that it usually meant the other man's life, and Sameh did not enjoy killing.

With a sigh he turned and sprinted to join the Medjai that were now engaged in a bitter fight to defend the Tribal centre.

**

The sounds of the fighting had grown closer and closer, and now sounded as though they were right outside the council hall itself. Women that had been sitting around the edges of the room moved fearfully to huddle together in the middle of the room, pulling their children against their skirts and holding them tightly as though to let them go would be to lose them.

Melleha could not help trembling as she watched. These were women used to the dangers of living in one of the few life supporting oases scattered through the Great Sahara desert. Surely they would be used to other tribes and nomads battling with them for water. If _they_ were afraid, then so too, should she be.

As if to underscore that thought a sudden roaring explosion shook the side of the hall and amid the noise and rolling heat that threw many of the women to their knees if not lower, the wall at that side of the room disintegrated into swirling, backlit dust and with a warbling cry, many red-clad demons flooded in.

Women's screams followed in the wake of the dying blast as the invaders began to move among them, grabbing them and dragging them away from each other – attempting to carry them off. The women fought, some snatching up the warriors' own daggers from their belts and hacking at them, screaming like banshees. The others ran toward the door, seeking escape by leaving what should have been the protection of the hall. They were barely half way across the room when the door burst inward, admitting more of their attackers, but in their wake came the Medjai warriors, flowing like shadows into the room.

**

Farhas snarled. She was within his grasp, just a moment longer and he would have had her safely in his possession and then the Medjai came. They poured in like scarabs after rotting flesh outnumbering his men at least two to one. Still – he would not be defeated.

"The woman!" he commanded one of his men that was already retreating against the onslaught of defending Medjai. He pushed him back toward the middle of the room, toward where the woman stood, floundering in indecision. "Bring her!"

His obedient warrior raised his weapon and once more waded into the fray, recruiting others as he went.

**

Zhadina spun around, hearing the cry and seeing the scar faced man pushing the others back in their direction. She looked around her… tried to work out why the men would commit to such suicidal commands… and then she saw Melleha, standing a little way behind her, turning first one way and then the other as thought she could not see which way was safest to go. The men were heading in her direction and the Medjai warriors were still fighting to be even close. She _had_ to do something.

Snatching up a fallen dagger in hands that were already red with the blood of one who had tried to take a small child from its mother she began to push her small, lithe form through the knot of jostling bodies that stood between her and Melleha. She would not let anything stop her. She could not allow her to be taken.

Breath burst from her lungs as she stumbled from the writhing mass into the space beyond and barely pausing to take another breath she began to sprint across the small distance. She did not even have a chance to make a plan for how she might achieve the liberation for Melleha that she intended, only to strike, and to strike hard. Perhaps that would give the Medjai warriors time to reach them and take up the defence. She cried for them as she went.

"Medjai, to me!"

Two more steps – barely that – and the leading man among the brutish warriors reached out to pluck Melleha from their midst even as others were reaching for women of their own to claim as prizes. The Medjai were advancing, but too slow… too far away yet.

"No," she cried in denial, and let the momentum of her charge carry her right into Melleha, striking hard and unbalancing the woman who fell beneath the panicked feet of others seeking to escape the reaching hands.

Zhadina tightened all her muscles to bring herself to a halt and to raise the knife she still carried. Without a thought she punched out her hand, knife leading and almost dropped it as hot blood flowed, pulsating over her fingers. The momentary shock gave way to fear of her own as she faced the dying man who even now kept coming. Panic lent strength to her hand as the pig faced man reached for her throat, his fingers clawing at her even as she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.

Something struck her hard aside the face, dazed her, and left her staggering as the pain of it broke through the fury that possessed her. Something pulled against the back of her neck, driving her forward again to meet another vicious slap against her face, and then the pressure snapped away. The man in front of her fell, all but sliding down her front, destroying what was left of her balance. She felt fingers close around her wrist, the inexorable pull on her arm commanding she follow. Hardness slammed against her belly, stealing the precious air from her lungs, before awareness faded completely.

**

"Retreat!" the cry came even as Sameh pushed through the battle toward the small knot of women trapped against the side pillar of the hall, bringing with him the warriors not already engaged in battle. The Farhaseed answered their leader's call, forming a defensive line between the Medjai and those of them encumbered with women of the Tribes.

"Stop them!" he called, but knew that even though the Medjai warriors would try to obey, there was in truth little they could do. The Farhaseed would escape. He knew their tactics and knew that there would be at least half as many of their warriors again who had not engaged in the battle that waited for their fellows just outside the territory of the oasis who would cut the pursuing warriors down with gunfire.

"Pursue them only as far as the end of the settlement," he instructed one of the senior among them before he pushed the man after the retreating battle. "Call a halt if you have not caught them by then."

Then he took the remaining warriors to the defence of the women who either fought or cowered to the side of the room, as their age or courage dictated.

**

It was an almost eerie stillness that had fallen after the battle. Cautiously, Melleha unwound her arms from around her head, feeling her bruised muscles screaming in protest at the movement. Someone somewhere was calling her name. It sounded such a long way off.

"Here," she croaked, trying to get to her feet. The best she could manage was to come to a sitting position. Her back ached as though someone were digging blades into it. Hands closed around her arms and helped her to her feet. She gripped the robes of the man that helped her.

"Lean against me," he told her and she recognised Sameh's voice. "Are you hurt?"

"Bruised," she gasped. "Someone toppled me, and I was trodden on."

"Cala!" Sameh called for the healer that had been a member of her Haad so long ago now it seemed.

"Sameh," she breathed, still unable to get enough air, "It's all right… I'll be all right once I've caught my breath, I—"

It was as though an explosion had gone off inside of her and the backdraft had grabbed every one of the muscles in her belly and her back and knotted them right around her centre. Even her breasts hurt from the force of the squeezing cramp that grabbed hold of her then.

Her fingers tightened into claws against Sameh's chest and she made a guttural moaning sound. In the midst of her pain she felt someone slip their arm across her tortured back and Cala's soft voice sounded in worry.

"The child is coming," she told Sameh. "Quickly – help me bring her to the birthing hall."

"No," she moaned in the same guttural tone as before, trying to find a breath as the knotting began to ease a little, though the pain did not, and she felt the slow descent of something wet against her thigh. "Too… early…"

"Try to be calm, Melleha," Cala said, moving to one side as Sameh came to the other. "Everything will be all right."

But there was blood on Cala's hand, and looking down she could see the same against her skirt… she moaned again in denial, "Not again…"

**

Outriders came up on him and the patrol he led, riding fast as he and his men approached Al-Dakhla, returning from Ninth tribe. As they drew closer he saw that many of them bore fresh injuries. There had been battle.

"Tell me," he demanded as the first of the riders reached him.

"Farhaseed," the man spat into the sand at the side of his mount. "They attacked, killed many and carried off several of the woman."

His head swam in extreme worry, bile rising in his throat at that thought, no… the knowledge of what that would mean.

"Who?" he asked breathlessly. His warrior shook his head.

"We do not yet know the extent of it. The families were accounting for their members as we left. We were sent to ride and bring you home. The healers say that you are needed."

Melleha…

Though he now knew she had not been amongst those taken – as he would have expected she would be if the Farhaseed truly _were_ behind the attack – he knew there was something wrong… feared for her; for their child. Without waiting for another word to pass the warriors lips he kicked his mount into a full gallop toward First Tribe.

**

Meela shielded her eyes against the sun as she watched the dust rising on the horizon as it came closer.

"Loch Nah?" she turned and walked quickly back to the man she had chosen as her lieutenant; her bodyguard and perhaps… if ever she grew bored or needful… something more.

He lowered the spyglass and spat, "Medjai," into the sand.

"What," she snatched the telescope from his hands and peered through it toward the cloud, "that can't be. Farhas—"

"Cannot be trusted," Whisper hissed in her ear, "I did warn you."

She lowered the spyglass and slapped it against Loch Nah's chest before she rounded on Whisper.

"When I want your comments," she snapped, advancing on the man, "I will ask for them."

"And even when you do," he responded evenly, a knife in his hand and against the skin of her throat even before she could take another step, "you do not listen. I told you that Farhas would not follow the advice of a woman, no matter how sensible that advice – how beneficial to him. He is a law unto himself and will always follow his own path, no matter what he has said to the contrary."

Ignoring Loch Nah's gun that was pressed against his temple, Whisper released her and paced away a few steps, examining his fingernails and cleaning them with the tip of his dagger. She watched him expectantly, knowing there was more of his peculiar kind of wisdom and advice and that she would soon hear it.

"If you truly want to keep those Medjai dogs from gnawing at your bone you must take it upon _yourself_ to be the fleas upon their back and keep them scratching," he said.

"Easily enough said," she snapped, but was prevented from saying more by the thundering of hooves as the Medjai patrol arrived and rode through their small camp, tearing down tents and smashing equipment before herding the hired hands to stand with her and the others.

"Which of you is leader here?" An older warrior, his rifle pointed at Loch Nah's chest demanded.

"I am in charge," she said defiantly. "How _dare_ you come in here and destroy my equipment, my research… the Egyptian government shall hear about this."

"I do not care who you tell," the man on horseback told her almost respectfully, "so long as you leave this place and do not return. It is on pain of death that you do so, make no mistake of that."

"By whose authority—" she began, playing into the role of irritated archaeologist. He interrupted, of course he did.

"You have until dusk to gather your things and leave this place. Leave… or die."

Without waiting for her to say more, he wheeled his horse around and galloped out of the City of the Dead with his men behind him.

Loch Nah raised his gun to take a shot at the retreating Medjai, but faster than those flying horsemen Whisper grabbed the barrel and pushed it down, saying to Meela as he did, "Use what you have."

"Meaning?"

"Hafez has brought the researcher from England to excavate the other sites. Farhas has attacked their main settlement, and rested to water their horses at an oasis not so far from one of those sites as they retreated. If something were to lead from the oasis to the dig… and there was something…" he raised an eyebrow and she knew that he was well aware that in the quickness of her mind she would already have reached the conclusion she had.

"Give them Al-Mahdi…" she whispered with a cruel smile on her face, "after all… he is a known associate of Farhas."

**

He paced back and forth outside the doorway to the room in which the healers worked with Melleha. The cries she gave, though more frequent sounded to him to be higher and weaker and the worried faces of the healers that came from within to gather more supplies did little to inspire confidence in him. There were still weeks before she should have birthed the child… weeks. It was as before… the last time…

_She had made such an effort to see that he was comfortable after so long in the desert, and he smiled softly from where he lounged against the pillows of the couch as she walked across the room to refill his cup with water from the pitcher._

"_I could have done that," he said, almost teasing her._

"_I know," she had a smile in her voice today, and he was glad of that. She always seemed so sad, so unhappy… he refused to let himself think any more on that. "But I _wanted_ to."_

_She had turned and was walking back to him when she suddenly gave a cry of pain, and dropped the cup, stumbling to lean against the centre pillar of the house. He was at her side, his arms around her supportively before he could count another heart beat._

"_Ardeth…" she gasped his name and pressed her hand to her belly. He did not wait, simply lifted her into his arms and carried her as quickly as he could to the healers._

_They took her from his arms and pushed at him until he was outside of the room, the thick curtain of camel hide between them. All he could do was pace, and listen to the cries and the soft murmuring of the women that tended his wife, until one of them – not so long after – came out to him. She had a terrible, sad expression on her face._

"_I am sorry, First Medjai," she said, "there was nothing we could do to stop the labour and the child was barely developed…"_

_She caught his arm as he staggered, and led him to a stool, kneeling before him and handing him water from a nearby pitcher._

"_Melleha?" he breathed, looking up at the aging woman._

"_Your wife is young and will recover from this, Ardeth," she used his name and squeezed his arm in sympathy. "Believe it or not, many families recover from grief such as this and so will you. Melleha will soon be as right as the oasis waters and will bear you children. Do not fear."_

"_I shouldn't have…" he started, never then or after able to explain why he should have opened up to the other woman as he did. He started again, "I do not bear the love for her that she craves… only concern – care. It is the best that I can give to her. I did this to her."_

_She smiled and shook her head. "Many a union among the Medjai is such. And you have a duty that you know you cannot shirk. Ardeth Bay, do not grieve for what could have been. Your woman is who she is. You will have a family and then you will find love – for your children if not for your wife. It is enough to care."_

"_No."_

"_Yes," she argued, "for she has love enough for both of you."_

**

One of the two women that supported her pressed a cool damp cloth against her head, rubbing her back with the other hand and whispering words against her ear. They were meant to be soothing, Melleha knew, but she could barely hear them for the ringing of the pain that seemed to grip all of her, barely abating now.

"Please…" she squeaked, looking in desperation toward Cala through the frame of her raised knees.

"Your child is coming, Melleha," Cala said. "Listen to Mariah and push when she says. You must push, do you understand? I know you are tired, but so is your child and it cannot come without your help."

She cried out as another wrenching pain spread upward from her womb to invade the whole of her body. She took a deep breath and strained weakly to obey Mariah's command to push.

Hour upon hour it seemed to her she continued in this pain wracked hell that was slowly splitting her in two. She had long since ceased to understand the healers' urgent whispers among each other, even though she heard them clearly enough.

"Go," Cala said to one of the junior healers, "bring Elder Sajid and Sameh."

The young healer hurried to obey as Cala returned full attention to her and to the ache that still grew between her legs.

"Listen to me, Melleha," Cala said, and fixed her with a stare that broke through the disorienting haze of pain that swaddled her; drowned her. "I must reach in to help your child to birth. There is no more time. When the next pain comes you must breathe and not push, you understand. No matter how much you want to, you must not push."

Swallowing hard in the terrifying moment of lucidity, she nodded. Something was wrong… terribly wrong, and she had to trust to the skill of the healers to make it right, but to surrender herself to them was almost as frightening as knowing something was not right.

The next of her pains stole her breath and she cried out, a long cry that held her immobile, neither pushing nor breathing as she had been told. She felt each moment of Cala's reaching, and the tugging amid the pain… the stretching and then… the sudden absence of pain… of anything for just a moment, before renewed pain – a sharp ache was pressing against her belly, and something hot and wet splashed against her legs.

**

Cala swore, and with the child in her hands moved aside so another of the healers could press hot cloths against the bleeding, and take over kneading at Melleha's belly. As she fought to bring the child's breath she worried over the one chance for an easy solution – that the bleeding would stop when Melleha expelled what was left inside her of the child's birth – but in cases like this, it was a slim chance.

Even as she thought it, the healer called for more hot cloths to help stop the bleeding inside of her.

The child – a girl – in her arms gave a little cough, another and then began a shuddering cry. Cala grabbed another cloth and rubbed the fragile girl cleaning her, and stimulating her senses at the same time. She was happy to see that when she touched a hand to the child's cheek, her head turned as instinct taught her to seek food.

Carefully she laid the little girl against her mother's breast, calling softly to the mother.

"Melleha, here is your child… your daughter… you must give her suck."

Even as she spoke the tiny little girl latched on to her mother's breast and began to suck, drinking down the first, important, life giving milk.

**

"Yes, but she stifles me with it," he answered the woman in his memory. Then Ardeth stopped pacing as Sameh and his uncle Sajid came into the birthing tent. They came to stand one each side of him, their presence supportive, even if they looked as worried as he felt.

He looked closer at his uncle and saw the redness, almost imperceptible, that ringed his eyes.

"Sajid?" he asked, frowning, distracted from his own worry for a moment.

"Later, my son," Sajid breathed, "in a while."

"No, Uncle. Tell me. What is wrong?" he demanded, his frown deepening. Sajid sighed, and bit his lip and Sameh reached out to squeeze the Elder's forearm. It was he that spoke in the Elder's place.

"We cannot find Zhadina," he said.

"We found this, clutched in the hands of one of the dead Farhaseed." His uncle held out a turquoise pendant.

Ardeth's blood chilled.

"Tumbleweed," he whispered almost in disbelief, and then added, "they have surely taken her."

Sajid nodded, his eyes filling anew with tears that he angrily wiped away. "If they have my daughter, then she is lost to us. Probably already dead."

Sameh shook his head, "I disagree, Honoured Elder. I think they will likely take the women back to his stronghold."

"I pray that she is dead," Sajid said coldly, and Ardeth knew that his uncle feared what would happen to her if she had to live as Farhas' captive, not that he really wished that she were dead.

"Pray Allah that she is somehow safe," Ardeth took the middle road.

**

She felt so light headed… almost as though she was floating on the warm waters of the oasis. The voices, and the pain and everything else seemed so far away now. It was almost peaceful.

Something warm was placed on her chest, and a moment after she felt an almost pleasant pulling sensation against her breast. It spread a warmth and comfort from its touch that flowed outward to weigh against her limbs and against her body until she was too heavy to float any more and the world slowly came back into focus.

Words that had been floating among the clouds that had surrounded her reached her and suddenly made sense… child… daughter… suck…

"No…" she moaned softly and again more loudly, "Wrong… it's not… my child… son. I had a son…"

"No, Melleha," Cala's voice was as soft as the hand she stroked through her head. "You have a beautiful daughter – small but beautiful."

"No," she moaned, almost growled as the confusion and light-headedness crowded in again. Her belly ached in time with the pulling, sucking feeling against her breast. She pushed at the thing, trying to get herself free of it. "No!"

She couldn't have failed… wouldn't… She didn't go through all of that degradation; surrendering to a man that did not love her, but took his pleasure from her anyway; enduring all of the coddling and imprisonment, however kindly meant and all of the unbearable pain of the day just for this… a _girl?_

"Melleha, peace…" Cala said softly, reaching for her, "you must not move too much…"

"Get it away," she demanded, trying to twist away from the creature at her breast, but they held her fast… were still pressing at her belly, and between her legs… and the pain still assaulted her. "Not a girl… please…"

"Oh, Melleha," Cala breathed, running her fingers through her hair again.

"Get it away!" she screamed at the other woman, and fell to sobbing helplessly.

**

Alarm flooded through him anew as his wife's frantic cries became wordless screams and he was surer than ever that the child had been stillborn. He felt his uncle grip his arm, and Sameh's comforting hand on his shoulder.

Before he could say anything to either of them, Cala came from inside, carrying in her arms a small wrapped bundle. He frowned in confused relief as he saw the swaddled child moving in her arms.

"Ardeth," Cala greeted him solemnly and held out the little nest of cloth that surrounded his child. Carefully he took it into his arms, disturbing the soft fabric enough to be able to see the little face, creamy skin with a shock of dark hair around its head. The child was beautiful. He looked up at the healer again.

"A daughter," she said to him.

He shook his head, correcting her softly, "A jewel, Jawharah."

Cala smiled at him, repeating the name he had chosen before she said, "I am pleased for you, First Medjai."

He looked up from his daughter's face again to ask of the healer, "Her mother?" and frowned as the smile fell away from the healer's face. "Cala, tell me."

"We are doing all that we can, Ardeth," she said to him quietly and pressed a hand to his chest. "But she was injured, and the birth was hard. She still bleeds inside. We will do everything we can to save her, but…"

She stopped speaking and sighed, looking at the others, and especially at the Elder he supposed she had summoned. Each of the men took a firmer grasp on him, lending him their strength for the bad news he knew was about to follow.

"But?" he prompted, barely able to find his voice.

"But even if she survives, she will never bear another child. Mother Mariah has seen this kind of hurt before. The blood comes from the vessel that brings lifeblood to the womb. When we stop the bleeding to save her life, we stifle the womb. It cannot be any other way." She reached up to cup his cheek with her hand and he leaned wearily into the healer's touch. "I am truly sorry, Ardeth, but if you are to give the Tribes an heir, it will not be born of Melleha's body."

He staggered, and held his daughter closer to him as his uncle and his second supported him. The implications of what the healer was telling him… and formally too, before an elder of the Tribes… everything he'd done… all the pain he'd caused in taking Melleha to wife…

The words that came from him were a quiet prayer for forgiveness…

"Leave us," Sajid told Cala adding the formal words of acceptance, "I have witnessed your words, and will counsel the First Medjai."

**

Her stomach rolled as a storm tossed ship, fear throwing the lead that weighted her legs until they felt alien… someone else's limbs. The five of them huddled together, clinging to each other as the man swept in on them, fury and hate the only things that were visible in his face.

"Get them down!" he snapped at the men who were surrounding them. "I want their heads."

The screams of her companions wrapped around her – a shawl of hopelessness and despair as rough hands grabbed her and forced her to her knees, pushing at her head until she bowed it, until she felt the cold of steel against her neck. The screams turned to sobs, a strange sound track to the silent tears that fell from her own eyes as she was unable to voice the fear and sorrow of her own… unable even to force the words of a final prayer to Allah as the cold lifted away from the back of her neck.

"Please, Sayiidi…!" she raised her eyes to watch as one of the Medjai women threw herself forward, to prostrate herself in supplication before the man Zhadina knew must be Farhas.

"Get away from me, bitch!" he kicked at her – kicked her head and sent her sprawling back. "You are not even worth my time… none of you! Not even in standing to watch your blood flow."

Zhadina looked up further as he signalled the men of his inner circle and saw them lower the blades they held over them all. She wanted to reach out to the woman he had kicked; help her to her knees if not her feet, but she dare not move… knew somehow their fate hung balanced on the gossamer thread of Farhas' temper.

"Argh!" he growled at last, and she realised that he had spent the last few minutes appraising each of them for their appearance and spirit. "Not a one of them has any worth to me. Have them thrown to the dogs that gathered them like the scraps they are!"

Along with the other women she was hauled carelessly to her feet and pushed ahead of one of the finely clad warriors of the Farhaseed out of the audience chamber toward where she had seen the soldiers go once they had arrived. The lead weight of the fear that had begun to lift from her belly settled again, hard and cold as she realised they were to be given as playthings to his soldiers. She tried to halt her steps, to find a way to escape, but the elite guard that propelled her along gave her another push that almost sent her sprawling to the dusty ground of the courtyard.

**

Ardeth walked quietly as he entered the room to which they had brought Melleha and sat gently at her side. Almost hesitantly he reached out for her hand. She stirred at the movement and opened her eyes. They were glazed with the effects of the medicines they had given her to keep her quiet, and to dull the pain.

"Ardeth," she whispered, and lifted her hand to meet with his. "I'm sorry…"

"There is nothing you need to apologise for, Melleha," he told her, gently squeezing her hand. "I should have been here to protect you… to defend against Farhas."

"You couldn't have known," she told him, shaking her head against the pillow.

He too shook his head, refusing to allow her to comfort his spirit when it was she that needed to be comforted.

"I have failed you, kalila. I have failed all of them."

"You could not have _known_," she insisted, then gestured to her body. "And this was an accident."

He reached out to wipe away the tears that came from her eyes in spite of the sedative they had given her against emotions that he knew must have been so raw. He knew the healers… they would have explained it all to her. She _must_ know.

As if to confirm his thoughts she said softly, "They tell me you named her Jawharah. It is a good name. I suppose she is precious now."

He reached again for her hand as the tears came faster on the end of her admission. If they had not forbidden him to move her, he would have taken her into his arms and held her. He had done this to her. He brought her this grief. To give her comfort was the least he could do.

"She would _always_ have been precious, no matter what," he tried to reassure her with words.

"But she should have been a son," she wept.

He shook his head, "She is _our_ child."

"But not your heir. She cannot be your heir and now…"

"Melleha," he leaned down to press a gentle kiss against her forehead, "We need not speak of this now."

She raised her hand to hold him in place, pressed her cheek against his.

"Oh, Ardeth," she sobbed. "I wanted so much to give you a son."

He turned his head to kiss her cheek, fighting back an unexpected wave of annoyance at her persistence in this… this obsession. It was another of the things that stifled him, but it wasn't fair to simply dismiss her feelings on this, and most certainly not at this time… injured as she was, in spirit as well as in body.

"Think on it no more," he said as softly as he could as he kissed her cheek again. "Grief will not allow you to recover, my wife. Only rest and grow strong. Our daughter needs her mother."

Cala took a step closer from where she had been hovering in the shadowed part of the room behind him. She held Jawharah in her arms. Melleha turned her head away from them at the movement and closed her eyes.

Ardeth sighed softly, biting his lip. He felt Cala's hand on his shoulder and the brief squeeze of her fingers that told him she would be outside and he should come to her. Once again he leaned down and kissed Melleha's cheek. If she felt the kiss she gave no outward sign of it.

"Rest," he told her softly, and quietly left the room.

"It will be different when she feels stronger, Ardeth," Cala told him softly. He only met her eyes and raised his eyebrow. He was not entirely a fool. He knew of mothers that rejected their children as it appeared Melleha had done. Cala looked down for a moment, apologetic in the way she avoided his gaze. Then she looked at him again and said, "I will bring her to Firyal. She has enough milk and Sameh said their son is almost weaned. The arrangement will benefit them both."

Ardeth nodded. "Aiwa," he said. "It is good."

Before she took away his daughter, Ardeth crossed to take Jawharah from Cala's arms and to kiss her softly on the brow.

"Grow well, my little jewel," he said gently, "and do not fear… your Baba loves you."

As he handed her back he could not help but remember the healer's words as she had told him of the loss of the child they would have had before.

"…_You will have a family and then you will find love – for your children if not for your wife. It is enough to care."_

**

Terror was not a strong enough word to describe the feeling that assaulted her, causing the beating of her heart to all but drown her in her own blood as it raced through her veins.

One by one, the women held by the Farhaseed elite were thrown to the common soldiers in the barracks. The men fell on them like packs of hyenas, fours, fives, sixes of them tearing at clothing, pawing at flesh and throwing themselves on them, taking them like animals with no propriety at all. They _were_ animals in rut… and overjoyed to be sharing the vessels on which they emptied their passions.

It was horror incarnate… living evil… and Zhadina trapped by it could not bear to watch, waiting for the time when the man beside her would remember himself… recover from the morbid fascination that now gripped him and push her too into the pit of hell. She tugged on her arm until the fabric slipped through his fingers and she could turn away… find some place to hide… escape later… when the men were all sated and sleeping as she knew they would.

Turning, she almost collided with the Farhaseed soldier standing at her side. He grasped her by the arm and pulled her quickly away from the others even as she struggled. He pulled her closer and the urgent hiss of his voice penetrated her fear.

"If you want to live, follow me."

She faltered, and then one of her companions cried out. It was a scream such as she had never heard… a mortal scream of fear, pain and the passing of a soul. Nothing else could have urged her to leave with the soldier as she did… but she almost willingly ran to keep up as he took her arm and led her from the barracks; across the courtyard and toward a small dwelling on the other side.

**

Sajid passed him a small glass of hot coffee as he wandered, feeling wretched and lost, into his uncle's home. The Medjai Elder took him by the arm and led him to sit on the deep, cushion piled couch in front of the small fire that warmed the room.

"Ardeth," Sameh reached to clap his hand in greeting. "I am sorry that a day that should have been joyous for you has ended in such a way."

He sighed and shook his head. "We are all of us in Allah's hands, Sameh. He has some other design that we cannot know. We must accept what has been given us."

"You truly believe that, my son?" his uncle asked, coming to sit opposite him in a low canvas chair.

Ardeth snorted, "No more than you do, Uncle."

"Then let us not mince words or waste our time with empty platitudes," Sajid said, "We are family here, Ardeth… let us speak the truth of our feelings and have done with it."

"They will insist I take a second wife," Ardeth nodded at his uncle's words and started by going for the jugular of the beast that snarled at him this day. He was speaking of the other Elders. "And claim it is my duty to the Twelve Tribes."

"They will insist you have an _heir_," Sajid corrected. "And in that they are right. The Tribes must have the security of knowing who will lead after you are gone. Our family has led the Twelve Tribes of the Medjai for many hundreds of thousands of years."

"Then my daughter's son can lead after I am no more," he snapped, his head aching.

"It is not enough, my brother." Sameh sorrowfully voiced what he knew in his heart to be true.

"Then marry her to your youngest son, Sajid," he snapped in frustration.

"No, Ardeth no," Sajid soothed him softly, "We are too close kin and well you know it. Even my eldest son's son would carry too high a risk for the Tribes. Would that there were another way, my son, but you have no choice. You must give the Tribes an heir. Take a concubine if you will not take a wife."

"How can I take _any_ other woman?" he lost his temper momentarily and threw the coffee glass across the room to shatter against the wall. Sajid did not even flinch; he simply reached out and poured him another glass. Ardeth went on imploringly, "How? When Melleha's heart is broken already at all of this… I have _done_ this to her… I have _given _her this pain. How can I hurt her any more?"

Sajid sighed. "Nephew, _you _know and _she_ knows that you do not love her. You have always been honest enough about that with each other… and…" he held up his hand when Ardeth opened his mouth, meaning to interrupt. He closed it again and listened as his uncle continued, "and yes… she may have harboured the hope that love could grow with time… and still it might, you clearly care about her feelings. But you and she also know you have a _sworn_ duty, as leader of the Tribes, to provide for their safety when you are no more. Both of you swore to honour that on the day of your wedding. She as much as you must honour it now. Yes… what has happened today is a tragedy – do not think I try to lessen that – but the truth of it is… she has her life. She is and can still remain your wife… the two of you have a beautiful daughter… and now, you _must_ give the tribes a son and since it cannot be born of her womb you must take another woman – to wife or to your bed…"

Ardeth sighed heavily and stared at his uncle for a long time. It sounded so cold, so clinical… but it was also, every word of it, the truth. He closed his eyes and sighed again… trying to find a point with which to argue… he could not. He covered his face with his hands.

"Even according to the Law of Twelve, Ardeth, that woman can be _any_ of your choosing." Sameh said softly.

"Do not _dare!_" he snapped as he snatched his hands away from his face to stare at his second in something approaching horror. He noted his uncle's confused expression. "Do you think I _enjoy_ causing pain to the ones that matter in my life?"

Angrily he got to his feet and stormed in the direction of the door. He knew Sameh had spoken in well meaning words, and ordinarily would not have reacted so strongly to what was, after all, a thought that was fighting to cross his mind all by itself. But the righteous man he was had pushed it aside and accepted the tearing pain in his heart as he did. After all he had put her through he could not now turn to her and ask that she accept him under such circumstances. It would be wrong… even if she had not promised herself as a healer and told him that it brought her peace. Even if he had not believed the peace to be true for the pain she had showed to him from the depth of her heart, shining in the tears of her eyes… even if…

"Do you not think that, when she hears of what has happened, she will not herself seek you out?" Sameh's soft voice broke in on his quiet misery as he leaned against Sajid's doorframe.

He sighed. What could he say?

"And when she comes to your door, Ardeth and tells you, 'here I am,' will you turn her away again? What excuse will you give her? Will you tell her you cannot love her? We both know that is a lie. You do, as she does you."

"I let her go, Sameh," he croaked, tears beginning to spill from his eyes. "She asked it of me in the name of love, and since I could give her nothing more of myself – I gave her that."

Sameh shook his head, "She _will_ come to you."

"No." Ardeth looked down, studying the sandy ground as he confessed, "That one possibility was the only saving light in this dark day. I could have accepted that… could have found some way to make it possible, but… she will not come."

Sameh frowned as Ardeth looked up again into his face. "I do not understand."

"She… has… sworn herself to the Healer's, Sameh," he said, his voice full of sorrow. "For the two of us… it is too late. I will love her into eternity, my friend… but I will never hold her in my arms."

**

Zhadina pressed her back against the wall of the room as the soldier pulled the bolt across the door and then threw himself into a couch to begin taking off his boots.

"Do you have a name, Medjai?" he asked without looking up at her.

"Zhadina," she said, looking everywhere around the room.

"Well, Zhadi," he said, "May I call you Zhadi?"

"No," she snapped, looking at him in horror as he shortened her name. "Only my cousin calls me Zhadi."

"Zhana then," he said with a shrug, and then he looked up at her. "If I were you, my Zhana, I would stop looking for a way to escape. Outside of these walls, they will simply fall on you as they have your sisters."

"I suppose you want my gratitude for saving me," she spat.

"That is up to you," he said and got up to pour water into two glasses. One of them he brought to her. Stopping and holding the glass at arms length for her to reach when she flinched back against the stone wall. When she took the glass from him he returned to his place on the couch.

Her hand shook as she first sipped and then gulped at the water. She was so thirty and the water so clean and fresh and cold that she could not stop herself. Moments later he all but leaped to her side and snatched the glass from her hand, and taking her arm pushed her roughly to sit in a low chair.

"Sip," he told her, "do not gulp. You will make yourself sick."

"What do you care?" she demanded trying to sound angry and not terrified.

"Perhaps I do not," he told her as he handed her another glass of water. "The man you killed? He was my brother."

Her heart and stomach changed places in her body and the tremor in her hands increased so much that water spilled over her fingers. She had to set the glass down on the table that stood beside the chair. It suddenly became clear in her mind that this man only wanted her for himself so that he could punish her for killing his brother.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in a tremulous voice. To her surprise, which did little to assuage the fear that filled her with nausea, he laughed.

"No you are not," he said after taking a sip of his own water. It seemed to calm him. "And neither am I." Then after another pause, and with a very dark look on his face, like fury and contempt all rolled together to one terrible expression, he added, "I hated my brother."

"Oh," she whispered, and not knowing what else to do she reached for her glass again, spilling a little more of the water as she brought it to her lips to take a sip. She felt him watching her… felt his eyes moving over her… taking her in. She could not bring herself to look at him, but closed her eyes instead, trying to see him in her mind's eye as something other than a Farhaseed warrior… her enemy…

She remembered he was tall… and that his face was clean… no beard or moustache marred his features. His hair was long and mostly straight but tied behind his neck. It was dark, almost as dark as the natives of this part of Egypt… but his eyes…

She opened her own eyes and found herself gazing into the smoky, hazel green of his as he had come to crouch before her, looking up. She swallowed hard, and reached out for a strand of his hair that had escaped its bindings. Her fingers barely brushed against the surprising softness of it before he moved his head away from her hand; took her wrist and pushed her arm down to rest against the arm of the chair.

He crossed the room again then, moving away from her, and her arm burned where he had touched her.

"Are you hungry, Zhana?"

"Yes," she squeaked, though she shook her head for no.

He laughed again. "Which is it, girl? Yes or no?"

"Yes," she said softly, almost in tears, "I am very hungry."

"Then come," he gestured with his head for her to join him where straight backed chairs surrounded a small table which stood before the fire, "and we shall eat."

As she crossed the room, hesitantly, she felt alternately as though she would disgrace herself by letting go of her bladder, or pass out from the stress and the tension and the fear.

"Please," she said at last, "I need…"

He nodded his head toward a door at the far side of the room, close by where she had cowered when he first brought her here. She backed away toward the door, keeping him in sight and watching him as he stirred a small pot that hung over the fire, before he started to serve the food into two dishes. While he was occupied she risked turning her back and all but ran into the privy.

Behind the closed door she wept, sobbed openly, not thinking for a moment that he would hear… not understanding why he had brought her here if not for revenge at the death of his brother. He was Farhaseed… Farhaseed were the enemy, they were evil, and they had no feelings for anyone… what they had done to her fellow captives had proven that…

"The food is growing cold, Zhadina. Come out," his voice called through the door. It was a tone of command, and after a moment more to sort out what remained to be done, she washed up and slipped back into the main room. She wrapped her arms around her, trembling with a cold she did not truly feel as she came to the table.

"I do not even know your name," she said, making no effort to sit down.

"I am called Kamal," he looked up at her and raised and eyebrow, "Now eat."

Carefully she sat down, not comfortable with being so close to him, and pulled the dish closer to her. When he reached out to the centre of the table she flinched again, but he merely broke a piece of bread from the loaf and offered it to her.

She took it hesitantly and murmured her thanks. He shrugged and set about his food, eating like a man with a healthy appetite, but not at all in the slovenly way she had expected.

She picked up her own spoon and began to eat. The food was good and soon, in spite of her fear, she was fighting not to bolt it down like a starving animal. He was watching her again when she glanced at him and without being able to stop herself, after she swallowed the food she had in her mouth she asked, "What do you want from me?"

He simply raised his eyebrow in answer, instead saying, "There is more if you are still hungry. Otherwise, we can rest. It is late."

"I'm not tired," she lied. She was bone weary from the journey, but too afraid to even think about sleep.

"After such a long journey… I doubt that," he said and went back to eating his food. When he was finished, and she was likewise, he took the dishes to a wooden bowl on the countertop that ran along the side of the wall. He took a steaming pan from the fire and tipped the contents – hot water – into the bowl… taking a knife from his belt he flaked off some grains of soap from the bar next to the bowl.

"Let me do that," Zhadina said, the words coming from her lips before she could stop herself again.

He shrugged and moved away. "As you wish."

She stood and crossed the room to scrub the dishes with the brush that floated in the bowl, then she dried them on the dishcloth she found folded nearby. She tried to use the everyday activity to calm herself, to try and stop herself from feeling as ill as she was, more and more, beginning to feel – dizzy and sick. In truth it did little to help.

When she turned from the work it was to find she was alone in the room. She stood very still, and could hear him moving around in the room at the back of the dwelling, beyond the door to the privy. Though she knew it must be the bedroom, she refused to think of it… refused to think of anything that could mean… She shook her head, banishing herself from that path of thought and instead took advantage of the fact that he had left her alone. She quickly searched the counter for something she could use as a weapon and then walked toward the door and began to pull at the bolt.

Well oiled, the heavy metal pinioning the door slid from the housing. Her hand closed on the latch and lifting it as quietly as she could she began to open the door, gripping the knife she had taken in the other hand.

She had it open almost enough to slip her slight frame through when his hand slammed it closed again, tearing the latch from her fingers. Without thinking she turned and lashed out with the knife, but he was ready for that, and caught her wrist and brought it to slam against the doorframe. The pain jarred through her arm and her hand opened. The knife clattered to the floor, and he kicked it away, before pressing closer, pinning her to the door.

"Let me go," she struggled against him.

"Where would you go, little Medjai?" he asked her. "What would you do if they found you? Or would you try to steal a horse and run? They would catch you. Trust me, Zhadina, outside of these walls – if you are lucky – you are a dead woman."

She shuddered, remembering the screams of her fellow women at the hands of the Farhaseed soldiers. It was a sound she would never forget as long as she drew breath.

He let go of her then, but did not move away. She pressed herself back against the door, breathing hard, her heart beating faster than a tiny desert mouse as he reached out to lift a strand of hair from her cheek, where it had fallen in their scuffle. The touch was gentle and that drew threads of confusion around her.

"Am I so very terrible to you?" he asked, his voice the softest it had ever been, and on the end of the question he stepped back, away from her, and spread his arms to both sides of him as if inviting her to survey him. He turned slowly around, his posture the same, and then stood facing her with his arms still spread wide.

He had changed his clothes. His red and black uniform had been replaced by a white shirt with ties at the neck and a simple pair of billowing black pants. The fabric of the shirt looked soft, and the ties were open to reveal his tan chest beneath. He had loosed his hair from its binding and it hung, freshly brushed, against his shoulders, curling slightly only at the very ends. It framed his face, an elongated oval shape with a solid, masculine jaw. His lips were full and even when, as now, his expression was serious, his lips had a natural tendency to curve upwards at their edges, and his smoky hazel eyes promised depths and mysteries to the man that stood before her.

She couldn't help but wonder what he would look like if he smiled.

Slowly he lowered his arms to his sides again and tilted his head a little, raising one eyebrow as if wondering what thoughts were going through her head.

She looked him over again, from the top of his head down to his feet, bare feet that were brushed on the tops by the long length of the pants he wore. She swallowed hard suddenly aware that as he stood before her now, he seemed somehow softer… kinder than the Farhaseed warrior she knew him to be… and that there were parts of her that found an attraction in what she saw… but that thought frightened her even more.

"Why?" she asked him, her voice barely a whisper.

"I thought we had been through that," he said, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

"Why bring me here at all… from Al-Dhakla I mean."

She cupped her wrist in her hand where he had slammed it against the doorframe. When he approached she flinched from him again, but he reached out and caught hold of her sleeve, to draw her away from the door and to the couch, where he made her sit and fetched warmed water and a cloth… and a dark glass jar from a shelf by the privy door.

Pulling up a stool he pushed her sleeve back and gently began to examine and then to bathe her wrist. Through all of it he gave no answer to her question. Not until his long fingers began to carefully rub the ointment from the jar into the back of her wrist and along the sides did he speak again.

"Your bravery inspired me," he told her quietly, "I wanted to talk to you. There was Hazim advancing on the other woman and without a thought you put yourself between the two of them. My two brothers are perhaps the cruellest, most ruthless men I know. And you… a slip of a girl… without a moment's hesitation stood up to them. I have never seen a woman do that before. It… was perhaps the most attractive thing I've ever seen."

In spite of herself she blushed and told him, "There were other ways you could have talked to me. You could have surrendered and asked for me."

He shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was sorrowful and almost tired. "They would have killed me without a thought. I am Farhaseed – enemy to the Medjai. There can _be_ no surrender, Zhadina, make no mistake. This conflict between us can end only one of two ways… with the annihilation of the Farhaseed… or the Medjai. There can be no other way."

"You are wrong," she told him. "My people are—"

"Merciful? Spare me," he said, and on those words the wall that had, for a time, deconstructed itself before her sprang once more into place. The softness in his voice retreated and almost angrily he screwed the lid back onto the jar of ointment. "You will likely bruise, but nothing more."

"Thank you," she said softly as he returned the jar to its place on the shelf. She felt suddenly at a loss with this distance between them. Her breath caught a little in her chest, then shuddered on the way out. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes… it was all too much and Kamal had her confused… and she was hurt and…

"Go," he told her, "if that is what you want. I will not stop you. But neither can I save you again. If you leave here, I cannot protect you any more."

"And if I stay?" She stood up and turned to face him, mustering all her courage to look him in the eyes and hold his steady gaze for as long as she dared.

Without saying anything, though with almost an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he turned and started to pad toward the bedroom.

She was caught between choices that were equally as bleak… she could accept this man's protection and everything else this meant or she could take her chances and run. Perhaps she would make it from the Farhaseed fortress and into the open desert, but what then? She had no food, no water… she did not even know where she was to be able to find shelter and keep herself safe. And if she did not escape the fortress, what was her fate then? Would she be thrown to the animals that were the Farhaseed soldiers, or be taken to Farhas himself? Either way it seemed to her that she faced the threat of death, humiliation and dishonour at every turn…

Her whole body shook as she crossed the room toward the door. She could barely grasp the bolt in her fingers they trembled so much, but at last she pulled it hard and it rasped into place, securing the door against intruders.

She heard him stop walking, and leaned her head against the cool wood of the door. He sighed softy from behind her, and then said simply, "Come."

She swallowed hard once more and slowly walked across the room, following him into the bedroom and trying her hardest not to jump outside of her skin when he let the dividing curtain fall behind her, or to back away when he reached for her to draw her into his arms.

She had known he was tall but now, for the first time she truly noticed _how_ tall he was, and how massive he seemed and she felt dwarfed in his arms, a sapling to his oak. She pressed her trembling, cold hands against his chest and he covered them briefly with one of his own before he raised her chin on the side of his index finger and leaned down to take their first kiss from her lips.

She gasped at the silken press of them against her own and shook against him as he deepened the kiss, capturing her lips with his and pressing the caress of his tongue against her own. Slowly at first, the kiss progressed until she began to lose herself in it; in the feelings that were stirring in spite of her fear; in Kamal… until his passion overtook his restraint and he wrapped her more tightly in his arms, deepening the kiss still further.

Panic burst through her from the tingling in her belly and she began to push against him, struggling with him to be free of his arms, of the kiss, needing to breathe and almost suffocating.

He let go of her and she stumbled backward as the kiss broke, snatching breaths from the air that seemed too hot, too full of conflicting emotions. He reached for her, cupped her cheek in his hand and caressed her face gently with a movement of his thumb.

"Please do not fight me, Zhadina," he said breathlessly.

"Kamal," she gasped, already turning her head a little to lean into his touch.

He moaned softly as she said his name, and pulled her to him again, into another passionate kiss that left her dizzy, barely able to stand for the trembling, but almost excited fear that flowed through her body.

As she tried, inexpertly, to meet the kiss, his hands began to move over her, taking in every part of her through her clothes. She broke the kiss and leaned her head against his chest as his fingers skimmed over the curves of her breast; found the buttons on her tunic and unfastened them to slide within and take her naked skin against his hand in a sure, but soft caress.

Her nipples rose and pressed against the palm of his hand until he found them with his fingers, to tease and caress them until she thought that the whole of her body was aflame at the touches he gave to her. How could she respond to him in this way if she were so afraid of him… of this…?

She gasped as his fingers left her breasts to skim across her belly, toward the ties that fastened her sirwal. He pulled the knots loose and pushed at the silken fabric until it slid over her hips and buttocks to pool around her ankles. She held tightly to his shirt as she stepped her feet out of them; as he pushed at the shoulders of her tunic until that too slipped from her to join the fall of clothing at her feet. Then he reached up and pulled the shirt off over his head, and stepped out of his own pants to stand before her, as naked as she was.

She blushed fiercely and tried to turn her head aside. She had never seen a naked man before and the sight of him standing erect in front of her returned the thrilling knot of fear to the depth of her belly. He caught her face in the palm of one hand again, and taking her hand in the other, drew her to lie with him on the bed, pulling the comforter over the two of them before he gathered her into his embrace and she tensed, half beneath him as his knee settled between her own.

He kissed her again, the same deeply passionate kiss that seemed somehow more so as they lay thus entwined, then broke the kiss to let his lips wander with his hands over her body, her skin rising in little bumps of sensitivity against his fingers and the brushing touches of his mouth.

When he took her nipple between his lips she could not stop the tiny sound that burst from her and he moaned in response and pressed his hardness against her hip, moving a little. His fingers continued the caress of her nipples as his kisses glided down over her belly and he pushed against her leg with the other hand until she let go of the tension in her legs and admitted his kisses to her inner thighs.

Her fingers trembled light caresses over his shoulders; ran into his hair; anywhere they could still reach as he continued to caress and touch and kiss. The kisses climbed her thighs once more and this time did not skirt the ache that pressed tightly against her centre that felt swollen and heavy and slick.

She arched her back and gave a small gasping cry as first the caress of his fingers and then the hungry pull of his lips glided against the swollen, sensitive nub at her centre. As she cried out, so he moaned, the sound vibrating against her as he sucked at her and swirled his tongue against her.

Just as she thought she would pass out from it the touches were gone, the warmth of his breath deserted her centre and tickled wetly over her belly, pausing at her breasts again and climbing to press hot, hard kisses against the sensitive skin of her neck, his teeth grazing her as he nipped at her softly.

His legs pressed tightly against hers until she surrendered and parted her thighs to let him lie between. Kissing her deeply he wrapped his arms around her and pressed closer. The hard heat that had been trapped against her hip pressed and glided against the aching need his lips had left between her legs, moved to rest against the outside of her.

He moaned again and laid his head against her shoulder, breathing hot, quick breaths against her skin. She ran her trembling fingers into his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp. He raised his head at her shaking caress and captured her eyes with his and for a moment he did not move.

Held her immobile with that gaze, pinioned… his butterfly… displayed in full perfection. She dare not even breathe…

And then he lowered his lips to hers, pulling her lower lip into his mouth, and nipping at her hard with his teeth. She moaned at the stinging sharpness, before the stretching press against her centre, became a fiery pain as he surged into her body, joining them as one.

She tore her lip from his teeth, crying out, a shrill breathlessness in the still of the night. He filled her, there was no separateness any more. She belonged to him and now must give herself in complete surrender to the passionate tension that gripped the tight muscles of his arms and his back as he held her. She drew breath and cried out again as he began to move, another wave of fire spreading from where he pressed inside of her.

"It will pass," he whispered against her lips as she sobbed into his kiss. She wanted to believe him... but the fire was spreading a hot tension into her limbs, knotting around her belly and making her feel heavier, making it harder to breathe… and with each time he filled her it was growing, spreading until she was trembling and sweating, and moving with him to catch a spiralling tingling cool – like the promise of oasis waters in the mid-day heat of the desert. That cool pleasure took the place of the fiery pain until she was gasping with it, moaning softly against the kisses he pressed to her lips and desperate to reach that tantalisingly elusive breeze that seemed to tingle through her veins.

His movements over her became swifter, flowing with the passion that he embodied. He was the heat of the sun that ravaged the oasis, she the oasis spending her life giving waters into the heated air, until, with a sudden bursting thrust, he flooded her and she broke with him, pressed hard against him, thirsty for agonising pleasure that possessed her.

Breathless, he sank onto her, and she could not help but clutch him tightly against her. Her breathlessness became gasps, and her gasping sobs as everything she had done, all that she had become pressed in on her, as heavy as the weight of his body over her… still inside her.

He raised himself up on trembling elbows, and caught her lips in an almost gentle kiss, and another, and another until his kisses moved over her cheeks to catch the tears that fell from her eyes.

"No more tears, little Medjai," he whispered between kisses, "no more tears."


End file.
